


dancing with steel

by merrynovice



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Temporarily Unrequited Love, True Love, Wish Fulfillment, happy endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-14 18:18:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrynovice/pseuds/merrynovice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who can't get enough Jaime and Brienne?  I can't!  Creamy, fluffy fodder, a smattering of angst and some pretty smutty interludes for the long dry spell ahead.<br/>This story is finished!<br/>I hope you enjoy it, thanks for reading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the orchard

**Author's Note:**

> Read the books, saw the series, devoured the excellent fan fic. Don't even know what is canon anymore, if you enjoy this then just roll with it. Thanks.

The orchard  
  
Jaime Lannister whistled a bawdy tune as he made his way to the clearing in the old, deserted part of the apple orchard.  Skies were blue and life was good.  Now that Brienne was at Kings Landing, Jaime had a new sparring partner.  Jaime had always felt uneasy with Ser Illyn Payne. He didn’t like the scorn he read in the man’s cold eyes as he struggled to master the left-handed sword.  Practicing with him was humiliating – Payne would drive Jaime back and disarm him as quickly and brutally as possible, then turn and stride away, spitting in the dirt. Ser Illyn might tell no tales because he had no tongue, but Jaime had far more trust in the big wench from Tarth.   She had already guarded his secrets and saved his life, and that ridiculous sense of honor and loyalty would never let her gossip about his failure as a fighter, even had she any friends to gossip with.  And, she was as good with a blade as Ser Illyn.  
  
Brienne, too, had seemed glad for a chance to keep in practice.  Though Jaime was the stronger, he had not yet managed to best her.    
 _If she had a cock she’d make a better Knight than half my Kings guard,_ Jaime thought whenever they parried. Brienne took the role of teacher seriously, pointing out weaknesses that could put him in danger, or suggesting moves that might use his left-handedness as an advantage.  Jaime had felt himself slowly improving.  Already his left arm was strong enough to fight for hours, and he didn't have to think quite so hard about which way he was swinging.  Not to mention he enjoyed the wench’s company. _Maybe too much._   Everyone else at court seemed to be an obsequious schemer plotting to gain an advantage.  It was tiresome. Jaime couldn’t remember the last time anyone other than the wench had been kind to him without wanting anything in return.  Even his golden sister always seemed to have a favor to ask every time she opened her legs for him.  _Tyrion loved me, but he’s gone now- Gods know where…_ Tyrion would have seen the truth earlier, of course.  He couldn’t tell himself the lies that he was loved for his pretty green eyes or ridiculous tourney trophies. That’s why he held with whores and sellswords- at least their motives are honest.    
  
As Jaime approached the sun dappled clearing, he could see through the trees that Brienne was already there, stretching.  She had grown sleek with proper food and plenty of sleep. Her muscled frame was as strong as ever but less ropy, less bony, more…womanly.  As Jaime watched Brienne roll her shoulders he couldn’t help but wonder how she looked under her soft leather leggings and heavy tunic- if she had filled out in other ways since he’d seen her in the tubs at Harrenhall.  Jaime had been so sick with fever and despair that night that he wasn’t entirely certain what had happened.  He seemed to remember his back sliding against the naked skin of Brienne’s breasts, her capable arms holding him above the water.   _She washed my hair, and shaved me.  Her hands were so cool._   Shaking off the memory, Jaime strode forward into the clearing.  “On Guard, wench!” he called out playfully, and they began to spar.  
  
Today Jaime felt stronger than ever- Brienne actually seemed to work to keep up with his advances, her brow furrowed in concentration, matching him stroke for stroke.  After weeks of training together, their bodies moved almost as one, anticipating every blow and parry. _Better than fucking,_ Jaime thought as their blades caught and slid down to the hilt.  She needed two hands to brace against the strength of his one.  
  
 _It’s almost like before the goat took my hand._   He felt alive. The dance of equally matched partners, movement flowing without thought, time standing still.  All that mattered were the flashing blades of their tourney swords clashing, pulling away, coming round to meet again. They were both breathing hard and sweating in their light leather armor, but neither one was gaining ground until Brienne’s foot caught on a mole hole that threw her slightly off balance, and she was forced to stumble back.    
  
“Good, Jaime!”  she cried as he pressed his advantage, driving her  toward the trees.  He felt almost powerful when their hilts clashed again overhead, and this time he managed to wrench the sword out of Brienne's grip. She lost her footing and sat down hard on the grass.  “Yield, wench!” Jaime demanded, laughing.  _If she were a man, I’d be on top of her with my sword at her neck,_ he thought.  Improbably, he felt a stirring in his breeches at the idea, and he quickly lowered his wooden shield to cover himself.  
  
Brienne grinned up at him with eyes even clearer and bluer than the sky above.  “I yield to no man, Lannister!”   And then her boot was shoving his shield back, and suddenly he was the one on the ground with his sword out of reach.  Brienne’s knee was pressing the wind out of his chest and her dagger tickled the base of his throat.  “Your end game needs work, Ser,” she said drily.  “If I were an enemy you’d have bled out by now.”  
  
“With friends like you, who needs enemies?” Jaime quipped as he pushed her off him and rolled to his feet.   At least he was still stronger than she, though not by much.  Cersei, the only other woman he had ever been so physically close to, felt like a fragile bird compared to Brienne’s firm, muscular build.  Once again, he wondered what it might be like to bed a wench he wouldn’t have to worry about hurting.  Cersei has always fussed about her hair getting pulled, or his “suffocating” weight on her slender frame, reproachfully pointing out tiny finger bruises.  
  
Jaime took a deep breath to clear the unwelcome thoughts of his sister.  “Again, mighty warrior of Tarth!”    
  
“Just once more,” Brienne replied.  “I’ve had a raven.  My father has sent a delegation from Tarth, but I’m not sure why.”  Concern creased her brow. “They are due to arrive this afternoon.  I would be bathed and ready to meet them.”  
  
They readied their swords and faced each other again.  This time, Brienne seemed tired, and Jaime was able to gain the advantage more quickly.  The dance was disappointingly short, but he was nevertheless elated when he managed to back her against the gnarled trunk of an ancient apple tree, her sword and shield pried from her grasp, out of reach on the grass.  Jaime used the shield strapped to his right arm and the weight of his body to press her back into the tree, and his left arm pinned her wrists over head. _Damn!_ He had her, but now what? In a true fight he couldn't chance casting away his long sword to grab a dirk.  Brienne was breathing hard into the narrow space between them and he could see the tiny beads of sweat at her temples.  She tried to duck and squirm free, but he only pushed her harder into the rough bark.  
  
“And this is where I run you through with my long sword, oh mighty warrior,” he taunted.  “Unless, of course, you yield to me.”  
  
“Seems like rather a large tool for the job,” Brienne panted defiantly, staring him down.    
  
“That’s what all the maids say, My Lady” Jaime drawled, still holding her fast against the tree.   “But believe me, it does the trick.”  
  
And then Brienne laughed, in spite of herself.  A snorting guffaw, utterly without grace or artifice.  A laugh Jaime had not heard enough of. She really was a remarkable woman.  “I owe you my thanks, Brienne.” Jaime said seriously.  “You’ve trained me well. I almost feel like I could be a knight- a man -again.”    
  
Jaime shook the shield off his chafed stump and released Brienne’s hands, but found he didn't want to let her go just yet.  He remained close- his feet planted next to hers, their chests almost touching, and the forearm of his sword hand braced on bark over her head.  His right arm dangled, useless, at his side.  Brienne would have had to push him off to walk away.  She didn’t.  
  
“It’s not the fighting that makes the man, Jaime.” Brienne said earnestly. “It’s honor, and….” She trailed off, apprehension clouding her eyes.  The afternoon sun bathed her in a golden aura and Jaime could see a blue vein pulsing under the translucent alabaster skin at the base of her throat.  He quite wanted to touch it.  
  
“And am I a man, Brienne?” Jaime quipped.  “Do I have honor enough for you?”  His words were light, but his eyes were searching.  
  
“What does it matter what I think?” Brienne replied with a bitter edge.  “I am not a man, even though I might have honor.  Most would say I’m not a woman, either.”  
  
“It matters to me, Brienne.  What you think. Far more than most others- you have more honor in your little finger than some have in their whole lives.”  
  
Brienne’s gaze softened as she read the honesty in Jaime’s voice.  
  
“As to being a woman….”  He studied her broad face.  As ever, the twisted scars on her cheek brought a surge of rage.  Not for the first time, he wondered if Brienne would have been so good if she had been born beautiful.  Those eyes were beautiful though, gazing thoughtfully into his.  _What am I doing?_   He bent his head and breathed in the scent of her:  sun warmed leather mingled with the aroma of apples, and shady forest places.  Smoke?  Musk?  Something else, dark and intoxicating. Her mouth was beautiful too, now that he really looked at it.  Generous and finely shaped…soft? Jaime came  closer until his lips touched on hers, gently pressing a tentative kiss onto her slight frown.  He closed his eyes and pulled back the barest bit so their lips were still just a quiver apart.  Tipped his forehead against hers, tried to swallow.  Waited.  _Kiss me back, Brienne. Touch me! Say something._ She hadn’t moved; hadn’t returned the kiss. Perhaps she hadn’t even breathed.   Jaime’s blood pounded in his ears and his ragged breaths seemed deafening against the faraway rustle of leaves and a lone blackbird’s warbled song.   He couldn’t seem to lift his eyes to read her face.    
  
 Finally Jaime mustered the courage to say, “You’re my favorite woman, wench.  The best of the lot of them.”  A stone dropped from his shoulders as he belatedly realized the truth of those words.  
  
Brienne still didn't push him away.  Her body had tensed and frozen like a deer that catches the scent of a hunter.  Her cheeks, already pink form swordplay, had turned crimson.  Turning her head aside from his face, she mumbled, “Faint praise given the company you keep, kingslayer,” her voice catching on the damning term.    
   
Wounded, Jaime stepped back to look at her.  The mistrust in her eyes made his his chest clench.  He certainly hadn’t wanted to embarrass her.  “Brienne, I overstepped…I apologize” She still didn’t move.   “Please forgive my impudence, I didn’t mean anything by it,” he offered, awkwardly trying to gather up her sword and shield with his one good hand.  Brienne waited in stony silence, then sheathed her sword and hugged her shield to her breast like a child’s blanket.    
  
“As you wish, Ser” She said.  “I think our work here is finished anyway.  You have bested me.  There is no more I can do.”  
  
 _No!_ Parrying with Brienne was the only thing that made life at Kings Landing tolerable these days.  He felt somehow apart from the rest of the Kingsguard, trying to hide his weakness from his brothers.  Things with Cersei were strained, at best. Her relentless scheming exhausted him, and neither had sought the warmth of the other’s bed in longer than he could recall.  Sadly, he didn't even miss it.   He couldn’t lose Brienne’s friendship as well!  _Why is she so upset?  We’ve pissed within sight of the other!_   Then he realized:  _She thinks I mock her._ Jaime struggled to find the words to regain the ease they had shared, but she was already striding away, proud back straight, towards the Keep.  _Damn!  Damn woman.  May the Others take those who fucked her up like this!_  
  
Rather than face another interminable afternoon dealing with the mundane details of the Kings Guard, Jaime aimlessly wandered the grounds of the Keep until he happened upon the Sept.  It had been a long time since he had given up hoping the gods listened, or cared.  Still, he made his way over to the Maiden’s altar and lit a candle.    
  
“Help me fix this,” he asked her stiffly.  “Make her see…” But even he wasn’t sure what he wanted Brienne to see.  _It was just a kiss!  I'm an idiot. She has to come around._ He lit many candles, then more.  They glittered and wavered in his weary sight like the ghost of a tear. “Heal her heart, maid.  Show her that she IS worthy of a good man.  Send someone to love her.”    
  
Brienne was big and mannish, it was true.  But Jaime had seen old women, fat women, pockmarked women with rotten teeth, women like dry shriveled bones and women like sausages stuffed to bursting.  They all seemed to get brats by some man or another.  Not that just any man was good enough for Brienne, but why was it they misliked her so?  It must be her unbreakable, stubborn self righteousness as well as her strength.  He well knew how she could radiate silent scorn toward a man she deemed weak or dishonorable. Nor would it be so easy to dominate Brienne in bed.  The thought of her attending domestic chores almost made him chuckle.  _But who wants a mindless slave of a woman?  Brienne, a man can talk to.   She wasn't the type to nag, or weep, or create drama._   Surely one of her “true knights” could see that she’s worth so much more than a pretty face.  He stared down at the white scars of his puckered stump, remembering Brienne’s compassion and his sisters’ obvious disgust.  _Is she worth her weight in gold?_ he wondered.  Then again, gold could be unbearably heavy- the golden hand only weighed him down, and all the Lannister treasure had not bought much by way of happiness for any of them.  
  
The candles began to sputter out.  Jaime had stayed in the Sept longer than he had intended.  He would have to hurry to wash up and dress for dinner.  Would Brienne take her usual place beside him?  He was afraid she would not.  His knees ached only a little less than his heart as he rose to leave the altar of the maid and begin the long climb to the cold, empty suite of the Lord Commander of the Kings guard.  
  
  



	2. betrothed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's torture Jaime, just a little. And Brienne. But only because we love them so dang much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics are not copying from word rtf- any advice? I wanted to use them to convey direct thoughts. Went through and placed quotes but flow is compromised, I think.
> 
> There's a wonderful fic here that has a very similar development, see end notes for my lame explanation.

Betrothed

Supper was already in full swing by the time Jaime entered the great hall. King Tommen was toying with a drumstick, eyes half closed, Cersei on one side and Queen Margarey on the other. _Poor kid,_ thought Jaime. _Past his bedtime._ The seat next to his own was empty, Jaime noted with disappointment.

“My dear brother!” drawled Cersei. So glad you could join us! “Thankfully, Ser Osmund has been filling your place quite satisfactorily.” Cersei leered up at the white- cloaked Osmund, who flushed and stared at the floor.

 _She’s already in her cups, then._ Jaime caught the eye of a passing serving wench and helped himself to some rabbit braised in red wine with figs. He had learned the stews were more manageable one- handed. His eyes scanned the Hall.

“You’re looking for your pet aurochs, I assume?” Cersei sneered. “It’s with the delegation from Tarth, way down by the door. You’ll have to manage your own sausage tonight, I fear. But you’ve missed the happy news! Love is in the air.”

“What news, Cersei?” Jaime asked apprehensively.

Cersei took her time refilling her wine goblet, carelessly sloshing the golden vintage onto the table. “Why, we will be hosting a wedding, sweetling! An aurochs in a white lace gown. What could be more amusing?” She tittered.

Jaime wanted to wrap his hand around her slender throat and squeeze the words from her. She was so lovely, resplendent in her ruby encrusted ivory gown. Her breasts swelled beguilingly from the lace bodice, and her golden curls were artfully arranged. She could be so relentlessly viscous. For a moment she appeared ugly to him, slitted eyes and twisted lips. Had he ever really known her? Had she ever even loved him?  
“Sister,” he growled, grabbing her wrist, “you are going to tell me right now what you mean.”

She twisted her arm away from him and rubbed it with a baleful glare. “With pleasure, sweet twin.” Draining her goblet yet again, she rose unsteadily to her feet. “A toast!” She cried out to the hall. “A toast to a new alliance, a new beginning, a loving marriage…. Brienne of Tarth and Ser Lyle Crakehall!”

Shouts of “hear, hear!” rang out, as well as derisive laughter. Stunned, Jaime searched the hall for Brienne. _I’ll burn the damned Sept! Crakehall is an ass. She can’t have actually agreed to this!_ Lyle Crakehall was a big, ugly knight with an even uglier reputation for dishonesty, drunkenness, and leaving his whores a bit worse for wear.

He finally spotted the banners of the men from Tarth along side the wild boar of the Crakehalls. Ser Lyle was nowhere to be seen, but Brienne was seated stiffly among them, wearing what appeared to be a very plain deep crimson overdress that did no favors for her pale skin. She was staring down at her hands in her lap, her plate untouched. 

Abruptly Jaime shoved back his chair and made his way over to the group from Tarth. “Is this true, Brienne?” he demanded. “Are you betrothed to Crakehall?” 

“Lord Commander Lannister, Ser, a delight to meet you” squeaked a little man beside Brienne. “Ser Lyle has been detained in the last village…” Here the other men elbowed each other and chuckled. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Chief Castellan of Tar…”

“Brienne!” Jaime slammed his fist onto the table, rudely ignoring the speaker. “Look at me!” Dishes rattled, and people were starting to stare. Jaime saw Cersei watching with a tight smile.

Brienne raised her blue eyes to meet Jaime’s flashing green ones. “It is true that my lord Father has arranged a betrothal, yes,” she replied mildly. 

“Tell your father no. I demand it! We can find someone more suitable.”  
 _Where are the Ned Starks of the world when you really need one?_

“Fortunately, I do not believe I am under the jurisdiction of the Kings’ Guard” said Brienne coolly. The little man next to her was growing nervous.  
“The queen has approved, Ser Jaime,” he piped in. “And your Lady sister was most congratulatory…”

_I’ll bet she was, the cunt._

“Jaime, there is no one more suitable. Not anymore. They’re all dead, married, or simply won’t have me.” Brienne was calm, but the words felt like a punch to Jaime’s gut. “It is my duty to marry and provide heirs for my Lord Father. He has given his word. Surely you are passing familiar with the concept of duty? It goes with honor and responsibility.”

He ignored the barb. “But you can’t want this! Brienne?”

“My lord is so sure of what I want,” replied Brienne, beginning to anger. “Tell me what that is. Perhaps I wish to live the life of a hedge knight, without a home, fighting for my bread until I bleed to death alone in the mud? Or perhaps I would prefer the life of spinster of Tarth; depending upon the charity of whatever distant relative my father names his heir? I certainly wouldn’t want to retain my own lands, Ser. I wouldn’t want to have a comfortable home with strong sons who would be heir to not one but two Lordships? Would I? Why would I want that?” 

“But Crake Hold is no fine home for a maiden…a Lady” Jaime protested lamely. “Lyle….”

“Ser Lyle is a landed knight. He is one of the strongest sword fighters in the land. He is a reputable man, and he will be my husband. I would be a fool to reject this match.” Her eyes probed his with an unreadable expression. “I have no wish end the betrothal. The marriage will be done next month, here, at Kings Landing.” Brienne’s voice was finally quivering as she twisted the knife once more: “Mayhaps when Ser Lyle arrives tomorrow, he will spar with the famous Kingslayer. I am told he trains daily. Mayhaps, he and I will even spar together, when we are wed.”

Jaime had nothing left to say. Suddenly he felt cold, and very tired. He turned and made his way back to the dais. Cersei was waiting for him with a triumphant smirk. 

“Poor Ser Crakehall,” she began. “I do hope he doesn’t back out once he sees his blushing bride. That would be so humiliating for her…”

“Just shut up, Cersei,” Jaime shot back. _I hope he does,_ he thought. _I'll kill him, and she will be free._

“Well then. If the fun’s over here, I think I’ll get my beauty sleep,” Cersei hiccupped. “Don’t bother coming to my chamber,” she added under her breath. “I’ll be indisposed. Ser Osmond! Please escort the king and I to our rooms.”

It had been a long time since Jaime had been with Cersei as a lover. Every time he looked upon her he remembered her twisted smile and manic eyes as she watched the Tower burn, victims screaming as they fell to their deaths. He shuddered. He’d had no desire to visit her chambers, and she certainly hadn’t been creeping into his. Still, he felt in need of simple comfort tonight. A serving wench approached with a platter of sweetmeats. She was a beauty, with large dark eyes, black curls, and an ample bosom spilling out of her bodice over a tiny waist. Jaime idly helped himself to a sweet, his eyes seeking out Brienne. She was still gazing at her lap quietly like a young girl. The sight made him angry. She should be next to him, discussing fighting tactics or making japes about the sniveling courtiers. He’d even listen to her bloody tales of honorable days gone by, if she would only call off this ridiculous farce.

The serving wench was mewling something at him. “What is it, girl?”

“I asked, begging your pardon Ser, if my Lord Commander wishes me to slice your tart, Ser?” she said with a giggle.

 _Why the fuck not? She’s a comely enough lass and I am a man. A Lannister. It’s about time I used my name_ \- something Tyrion did so easily. 

“Why, my dear girl, I was actually thinking more along the lines of slicing your tart. And for that, I don’t need my hands. Come, sit on my lap. Beautiful girls always love sweets. Share some of mine.” 

Despite the ridiculous line, the girl wriggled onto Jaime’s left knee, making sure he got an eyeful of her jiggling bosom. “I love the ones that squirt cream,” she announced, selecting a sugar crusted pastry horn filled with custard from the tray. When she took a bite, some of the filling dripped out upon her breasts - by design, Jaime was certain. “Oh, look at that,” the girl pouted. “Ser Jaime, could you get that for me?”

“As you have observed, I am sadly lacking a right hand. Is there another way?” He played along. _I can’t believe men pay for this drivel_.

“The cream is so delicious,” the girl tittered, sucking her fingers. “You could just lick it off?”

Jaime bent his head to her breasts. They squished queasily under his flicking tongue. She let out a moan that he was pretty sure was faked, throwing her head back in affected pleasure.

Jaime looked to Brienne. Finally he had her attention. From across the hall he could see two spots of red in her cheeks, though she refused to meet his eye.

“Such tasty sweets make a man thirsty,” Jaime said. “I wonder if you might have a friend with a wine carafe?”

“You would love my friend Merssi!” chirped the girl. _As if I give a fuck about her name._ “Over there, with the long red hair. Isn’t she pretty? Merssi!’ She called.

“Red, my favorite color. Besides gold, of course.”

“Is it true that my Lord has a hand of gold?” The girl was asking. 

“What? Yes. It’s not my most useful appendage.”

“Perhaps we could find a use for it later,” she teased. The redhead Merssi filled his goblet and straddled his other leg. Jaime had the distinct feeling they’d performed this act before. He drank deeply.

“Ooh, I want some sweets too!” whickered Merssi. Jaime endured the silly creatures licking jam off each other’s fingers while he watched Brienne. She tried not to let him see her stealing glances. The frown on her pale face grew longer and she wasn’t saying a word to her companions. _Good. Let her see I don’t care. I’m Jaime fucking Lannister, dammit. I can get any woman. Let her marry._

Jaime drained his cup. His legs were staring to ache from the bony asses of the serving girls. Their weak, slender arms felt like he could snap them in two, their voices seemed shrill and cloying. Up close, he could see their rosy cheeks were paint, like Cersei used. He hoped the smell of stale cooking grease, spilled wine and cheap rose water would come off with their clothes.

Suddenly Jaime had to get out of the stifling hall. He rose to his feet, almost tumbling the little fools to the floor. “Whoops, my Lord,” one simpered. “Shall we accompany you to your chambers? We can help with all those lacings on your breeches.” 

Jaime was drunker than he’d realized. He draped an arm over the shoulders of each girl so Brienne wouldn’t see him stagger as they passed by her table. He could feel her eyes on him.

“Come along, my merry wenches,” he announced loudly, slapping the brunette’s ass for added emphasis. It jiggled like a wineskin. “Nothing like a beautiful girl –or two- to warm a man’s heart!”

“And his bed!” one or the other snickered. They were almost intolerable. He didn't want them anywhere near his bed. In fact, what he wanted was to be alone. Asleep. Asleep, so he wouldn't have to think. He wondered if he could sleep through the entire next month. _Maybe if I drink enough._

Jaime looked back as they lurched out of the hall together. All the color had drained out of Brienne’s face, but the eyes that met his were dark with despair. Jaime stumbled and turned away. He felt as if his stupid golden hand had closed in a fist around his heart. As they made their way toward the tower of the guard the girls prattled on about his great sword or some such nonsense, but all Jaime could see was the silent figure of Brienne, alone in the center of a crowded hall, eyes like blue coals burning a hole into his soul.

“Be gone!” Jaime slurred, shaking the startled girls off of him. “Leave me, at once!’ They gaped, unsure whether to laugh or run. “I beg your pardon, ladies,” he corrected stiffly. “Forgive me, I am not well. I wish to rest- alone. You are simply lovely, both of you. Please. Go now.” He dug in his pocket for what coin he had and flung it to them without bothering to check the value. Like mice, the girls slipped down the hall, whispering. _Thank gods for the silence,_ Jaime thought, leaning his cheek against the cool stone wall. But the next instant, loneliness washed over him again. 

_Perhaps she is right. What other life is there for her? Her sons will be magnificent, after all. Her daughters will be even more magnificent._ He was ashamed to contemplate what she must be thinking of him after his display of foolishness in the hall. 

Imagining Brienne as a mother had sparked a memory, and he headed toward the private armory where he stored his weapons, pageant garb, and riding gear. He found the small trunk behind his collection of useless honorary shields. His share of their mother Johanna’s private jewelry. The sapphire was just as he remembered: a rare skylit sapphire, so called because it’s pale blue translucency seemed to absorb and reflect the color of the sky. He recalled his mother had worn it often- in fact; this particular gem was famous as one of the largest. “Maidens’ Teardrop” it was called, owing to its unusual shape and sparkle. Worth more than diamonds it was, yet what value had diamonds to Captain of the Kings guard? He would have no wife to bejewel, no daughters to spoil, no mistress to coax. His sister had disdained the necklace because it muddied her green eyes, but would doubtless be infuriated if Jaime gave it to another woman. _Not that I care what that bitch thinks,_ Jaime told himself, not entirely honestly.

Wrapping the sapphire in a square of velvet polishing cloth, he descended the curving stair of the tower and found his way to the hall of Brienne's quarters. He could not face sleep until he tried to make things right with her- "how did I manage to piss her off so thoroughly in just one day?" He wanted his sparring partner back- and if he remembered Crakehall correctly, Brienne would need all the friends she could get. 

_It must be later than I thought,_ Jaime realized from the empty corridors and guttering torches. He was relieved to see a crack of light under Brienne’s door, but when he raised his hand to knock, he found he had no words. He leaned against the thick oak to compose his thoughts. _I didn't mean to offend you?_ Nonsense- Brienne would know that’s exactly what he did mean to do, and she wouldn't appreciate the lie. _I only protested because I …care? about you?_ Too milquetoast. He slid to the floor, head hanging. _Sorry I’m such an ass?_ That had potential. _Please forgive me? I think that I, I might..._

The next thing Jaime knew he was falling, and there was a soft yelp of surprise, and the sinister shiing of a sword sliding free from its sheath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure who already incorporated Johanna's jewels but when I read it I thought "Damn!" Great minds and all that. I had already penned this chapter so it wasn't directly lifted. But then again, all this is derived from the work of others so I didn't feel the need to rework anything. It just makes perfect sense that Jamie would search for a way to convey his feelings to B while also subtly digging at C. Associating B's selflessness with his dead mother is a natural. And sapphires, of course :-)


	3. grumkins at the door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little bit of Brienne for a change. what IS she thinking?

grumkins at the door

 

Brienne had not been asleep. She lay motionless on her back, practicing a trick her first swordmaster had taught her. If ever she was captured and tortured, she was to calm her breathing and focus on a happy memory or favorite place. If she could retreat deep enough into her mind, he had promised, she would feel no pain. Brienne anticipated she would need to employ the technique frequently in the future. 

Today had brought not only the life sentence of her engagement, but also the memory to help her endure it. Jaime. In the orchard. Jaime’s lean body full against hers, kissing her. _Had it really happened? Why would he do it_? Somehow she couldn’t quite convince herself it was a cruel jape, not after she had seen the look in his eyes. And then he had been displeased at her betrothal, slamming his fist onto the table. She bitterly regretted lashing out at him, naming him kingslayer. It was unworthy of her, and she had meant to apologize. But then –his arrogance at dinner; and those girls, Jaime’s golden head bent to their breasts. Images swirled in Brienne’s mind and she fought to still her thoughts. _The rough bark under my fingers. The knotted tree, digging into my back._ She willed herself back to the orchard. _The blackbird’s song._

Brienne had heard her maid stealing across the room. It was, after all, Sera’s habit to sneak out in the night, returning a few hours later. Brienne didn’t care enough to mention it, let alone stop her. This night, she had also heard the shuffling of what she presumed was a drunk, passed out in the hallway. With Sera’s yelp she was armed and on her feet in seconds, eying the disgraceful figure that had tumbled into the opened doorway.

“What is it, Sera?” called Brienne. “Is there a grumpkin at the door?” 

“There is a man, my lady! “

“Most of one, anyway,” Brienne said coldly. “This is Ser Jaime Lannister, Sera. You may return to your cot. I can manage him.” Lannister looked unwell as he struggled to his feet. Perhaps he was still drunk. “What are you doing here at this hour, Lord Commander? Prowling the halls for more little girls to warm you?”

“Fuck it!” Brienne cringed at his obscenity. She stepped into the hallway, drawing closed the door behind them. “Brienne,” he started over.

“And your wenches?” she interrupted. “Your beautiful wenches?” The words hurt her to spit out. She hoped they hurt him more to hear. But when she saw him flinch, she immediately wanted to take them back. Brienne had always felt more at ease with the other freaks at the edges of society, and Jaime was the original privileged golden boy. Even drunk and disheveled, he was so beautiful that Brienne had to look away. _I would absolve him of anything, given half a reason,_ she chided herself. 

“I sent them home, to their own little beds. I couldn’t…” he tossed his head with something of his usual insolence and corrected himself: “didn’t want them.” His eyes seemed to issue a challenge. “The older I get, the more I seem to appreciate the beauty that lies on the inside. There was nothing for me in those girls. I couldn’t wait to be rid of them.”

Brienne felt her heart lurch with something like relief, but she bristled at his callous dismissal of the young girls. Her pride wouldn’t let her back down. “How kind you are, Ser. What a gentle protector of the realm. A fine position from which to cast aspersions on others.”

“Listen to me, Brienne,” he pleaded. “I’m trying to say I’m sorry. Maybe I was wrong about Crakehall. It’s been many years since I drank his wine. I had only thought…I hoped that you would someday find your true knight.” He lifted his stump to touch her arm above the elbow. She did her best to ignore it. “I need for you to be happy.” Shaking his head at his inadequate ramblings, Jaime dug into his pocket and brought out a small bundle wrapped in dark velvet.

“I want to give this to you. The Maiden’s Tear, it is called.” Jaime looked plaintively into her eyes until she allowed him to press the velvet into her hand. It was hard and surprisingly heavy.

Reluctantly, Brienne unwrapped the cloth to reveal a cut stone the size of a robin’s egg on an exquisitely wrought chain of Lannister gold. The way the gem sparkled in the low torchlight made it hard for her to tell the color. “Jewelry. My favorite,” she said scathingly. “And what better time to deliver it to my chamber than the hour of the skunk? Jaime—“

“It was my mother’s. A skylit sapphire. I thought you might like to wear it to your wedding- it will match your eyes.” 

“A sapphire?” Their private joke. _His mother’s jewels, for me_ she wondered at the flashing gem. _Lannister, I don't know what to make of you._

There was not a hint of cockiness in Jaime now as he anxiously searched her face. “ I know you're not one to decorate yourself, but you might have daughters…”

“Won’t Cersei want this for her own daughter?” asked Brienne pointedly. “It appears most valuable.”

“Fuck Cersei!” Jaime exclaimed, his voice echoing weirdly in the stone hall. Then, softer: “It is valuable. It’s worth a bloody fortune. What do you think another fortune is to me? Is it enough to buy your forgiveness? That’s what I want to know. Will you take it, Brienne?” 

Brienne ran her thumb over the stone. _Come next moon, I may never see his face again._

“Keep it, as something to remember me by,” Jaime urged, as if reading her thoughts. “When you’re an old shriveled gran, surrounded by screaming brats,” he tried to joke.

“Jaime Lannister,” she said softly, looking up from the gem to his fathomless green eyes. “Lord Commander of the King’s Guard. Your name is known to every man, woman and child in the Seven Kingdoms. I had almost decided True Knights were only a fairy story for children, when you came back, for me." She took a breath to steady her voice. "You may be certain, Jaime Lannister: while I yet draw breath, I shall never forget you.”

Jaime sighed with relief and his lips twitched into a familiar smug, boyish grin. She closed her hand around the sapphire. Her eyes burned and threatened to spill over. _As if it’s just that simple._ she thought. _You’re forgiven, golden boy, now go play with your money and your swords._ She had to get away from Lannister before she lost control and said something she would regret. After all, none of this was really his fault. 

“Now that you’ve delivered my wedding gift, may I return to my bed?” She tried to sound light.

“Of course, my Lady,” Jaime replied with a sweeping bow. “One small detail, though.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “The sapphire wasn’t a _wedding_ gift.” And he was off, footsteps fading down the dark corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not to sound all sappy or anything, but all your kind words made my heart soar this morning. This is pretty raw stuff to lay out there. Thanks a million and know I have the utmost respect for the works here. I only dream of possessing the creativity I've seen. I can also handle constructive criticism fairly well, if anyone is so inclined.


	4. the boar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> of course, the bridegroom is a foul creature. come on, Jaime! you know you lo, lo... gah!

the boar

Ser Lyle Crakehall didn’t appear the following day, nor the next. His men joked he had stopped to take his fill of the whores in the roadhouses, before meeting his bride “spoiled his appetite.” _Good._ Jaime tried to quell his simmering anger. _Let him fuck himself dry. Then perhaps he’ll not be so hard on Brienne._ Poor wench, she had no idea what was in store for her. He was fairly certain the kiss in the orchard had been her first.

Crakehall finally arrived three weeks before the wedding was scheduled. When Jaime saw him in the great hall, he was gnawing at a mutton rib with yellowed teeth, grease smearing his matted brown beard. A thick thatch of coarse hair was visible at the stained neck and sleeves of his doublet, and the sour stench of horse piss and stale sweat told Jaime he hadn’t bothered to bathe before meeting his bride. She was seated beside him in a modest grey gown that actually suited her rather well, Jaime thought. The brute was so large he managed to make Brienne seem almost delicate next to him. Vaguely disappointed that Brienne was not wearing his sapphire, Jaime gave a stiff nod to the Lord before taking his place at the head table.

As the evening wore on and the wine flowed, guffaws of laughter rose from the Crakehall clan. Owing to his greater wealth, they had been moved close enough to the front of the hall for Jaime to make out scattered bits of the talk.

“I’ll manage well enough!” Ser Lyle bellowed. “Haven’t I fucked animals before? Throw a blanket over her head an' turn her over. Nobody said you have to look at a bitch to get a son on her!” Jaime tried to catch Brienne’s eye but she was staring at the floor in quiet humiliation.

“Stuff a rag into her face so you won’t have to listen to her brays,” a grimy page suggested, crumbs spilling from his crude mouth.

“Oh, I’ll stuff her maw all right. But her screaming won’t put me off my work,” Lyle japed. “She’ll learn her place quick enough, in my house.”

Jaime felt nauseated. He couldn't shut out the thought of Crakehall’s filthy hands violating Brienne's’ fine, pale skin. The bloody meat on his plate revolted him, and he made no effort to cut it. He wondered why Cersei wasn’t here to enjoy the scene.

“She may be ugly, but she’ll give you great, mighty warriors of sons!” someone called out.

“Hear hear!” cried Ser Lyle, wiping his dripping beard on a sleeve. “A man can wallow in the mud once a year, I say! And if she spawns more bitches I’ll throw them in the mere with the runts- imagine the dowry I’d need to rid myself of the likes of them!”

“”T’would be a kindness!” another man roared amongst the clang of goblets. Peals of drunken laughter rang out.

Jaime stood abruptly, upsetting his goblet.

“Ser Jaime,” piped a sweet, musical voice at his side. “I hope you’re not entertaining thoughts of wild boar hunting.” It was Queen Margaery, keen eyes soft with pity. 

“Crakehall is a guest of my King, your grace,” He replied with barely contained fury. “The laws of hospitality prohibit violence at table.”

Margaery put a hand on his arm. “Jaime, I’m sorry. If there had been another way…. But she knows how you feel, and she’s made her choice. Let her go.”

“She knows how I feel?” Jaime asked sharply. “How so, your grace, when I scarce know your meaning myself?” 

“Jaime, you and she disappear for hours every day. Are you not together? Your eyes search for her when she is not at your side. I have seen it.” Then, darkly, “Your sister has seen as well. But there is no shame in loving a woman for her spirit rather than her face or figure. Beauty fades, after all. And we women can’t help but know when a man has love on his mind,” she finished gently.

Jaime regarded the Queen. She was undeniably beautiful, as well as sharp-witted. Doubtless most men had love- or sex anyway- on their minds when in her company. Cersei also seemed to always know over whom she could wield her powers of seduction. But Brienne was not like them, or any other woman he had ever met. He had kissed her, but then apologized for it. He had gifted her the priceless sapphire, but simple words failed him. Did she sense his deep regard? _If she knows, then she has indeed rejected me._ The harsh thought troubled him. 

Another guffaw of brutal laughter erupted from Crakehall’s men. Jaime knew he had to get out of the stifling hall at once. “Your grace is most kind,” he excused himself. The young queen watched him go with a thoughtful gaze. 

“Ser Lannister!” Crakehall had seen him passing, and heaved his girth from the chair to address the Lord Commander. “Some say you safeguarded my bride’s maidenhead,” he began. “I’ll just have to trust your word that it was in danger…” more laughter. “But my thanks to you. Tarth is a prize and if the price is keeping another dog in the kennel, I’ll pay it.” The man didn’t even realize how offensive he was. He was actually raising his glass in a toast. 

Jaime cut his eyes to Brienne. She didn’t seem to be paying attention, with a faraway look in her eye and – a hint of a smile? _She must be in shock._ Red rage began to cloud his vision. “Pardon me, Ser Lyle,” he spit out. “The stench of rotten swine is turning my stomach.” Lyle stared agape as Jaime half ran from the hall.

Outside, the air was clear and the barest sliver of yellow moon hung low in the sky. Jaime was glad for the cover of darkness. He turned his steps straight to the royal armory. He needed to somehow release this burning anger. Using his Captain’s key, he unlocked the door and slipped inside. Seizing the first dull practice sword he saw, he headed onto the proving yards. In the dim light he could barely make out the figure of the straw dummy the youngest pages used to practice swordplay upon. With a strangled cry Jaime ran to it, driving the dull blade straight through. His shoulder flashed with satisfying pain and he imagined blood burbling out from between Crakehall’s greasy lips. Jaime wrenched the sword free and delivered a mighty blow to the side of the dummy’s neck, slicing the head half off. In his mind’s eye, Crakehall’s beady eyes popped and stared dully. 

Again and again Jaime rained blows onto the dummy, his breath coming in ragged sobs. His left arm throbbed with pain and his stump was scratched bloody from using it to brace the dummy as he pulled the sword out, only to strike again. When the straw man fell to the dirt, he continued to run it through, relishing the harsh jolt to his left side every time the dull blade slammed into the packed earth below. By the time Jaime was spent, the dummy was reduced to bits of straw and his under tunic was soaked with sweat. He cast down the sword and stripped off his heavy doublet, letting it fall amidst the drifts of scattered straw. The rage was gone, but the emptiness that remained felt even worse.


	5. moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> maybe our hero isn't as cocksure as he thinks...and it's almost pure smuffiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! i brought some smut. would anybody care for a nice, big, hot, creamy, dripping, throbbing, palpitating slice?

moonlight

Jaime ached for Brienne, but seeking her out was impossible. He turned his steps toward the apple orchard. He had been so stupid, thinking it would simply go on forever- sunlit days trysting in the clearing, evenings spent in quiet companionship at table. He should have seen it for what it was- a few happy golden hours punctuating a life mired in shit. The precious moments had slipped through his fingers like water, and now they were gone. But how much worse for his friend, Brienne. _Life with that…beast. He isn’t fit to breath the same air as her._

There was a noise in the clearing. An injured animal, perhaps? It was coming from a lump at the base of the ancient tree where he had kissed Breinne. A large animal- maybe Jaime could scare it away. He wanted the clearing for himself. As Jaime drew closer he realized the lump was in fact a person, crumpled on the ground, and the strangled noise was muffled weeping. It was so dark. _Could it be her? Please- Mother, Maid, anyone? Let it be her._

“Hello?” Jaime called softly. The mound silenced itself. 

“Leave me,” said a thin, hollow voice. It was so unlike Brienne he almost wasn’t sure. Then the moonlight caught a lock of cropped hair that was more straw than gold and he knew.

“Brienne,” he moaned, sinking to his knees. “Brienne. It’s me.” He reached out a finger to touch the flaxen lock. Brushing it aside, his knuckles grazed her deeply scarred cheek. Beyond shame or fear at her reaction, he tenderly caressed the weals. The gentle touch was too much for the maid of Tarth; she burst out in fresh, raw sobs. Jaime gathered her into his arms, holding her while she let out the tears. They did not come easy to her- shuddering, choking breaths wracked her broad shoulders as Jaime pressed her against his chest with his stump and stroked her hair with his good left hand. Even after she had quieted, she let Jaime cradle her for a long while. “I’m here,” he whispered softly into her hair. “I won’t leave you.” Her closeness and the smell of loam and ground-apples soothed Jaime. She felt so good in his arms. Solid, real. He held her tighter. _Stupid cock,_ he thought. _Be still._

Finally she pulled away and sat back on her heels before him. It was just light enough for Jaime to see her swollen eyes and red nose. The scar was angry against her tearstained, blotchy face. She looked beautiful to him. 

“So you saved my maidenhood twice, for that,” she wavered. “Would you had left me for the bear.”

“Would that I had taken it myself, wench.” The words fell flat.  
When she only looked at him with empty eyes he continued. “I’ll kill him.”

“And mayhaps rekindle the war? Jaime, you can’t.” She was probably right, he knew. 

“Then you kill him, in his sleep. Poison him.” As if she would ever do anything so underhanded.

“Jaime…this is my path. It’s not so different from most women. I am strong. Please don’t concern yourself with me. It’s just…hard to accept what must be.” 

_That’s something I know about as well, my wench._

“He’s going to savage you, Brienne. He gets pleasure from that. And he’s stronger than you.” Jaime looked at the woman before him. She was drying her eyes on the hem of her gray gown, a childlike gesture. The thought of Crakehall pushing his flabby girth onto her stirred his blood in a dangerous way. She had already endured so much, yet always chose honor and kindness. She alone had expected the same from him. And now, she would be ridden like a breed mare at best, by a stinking pig of a man who was blind to her grace. _At Harrenhall her cool hands shaved me so carefully. It felt like a lover’s caress._ It was an injustice that she would never be touched with tenderness herself. She was supposed to be carried away by a shining knight.

Brienne lifted her chin. “He may hurt my body, but I shall not give him the satisfaction of knowing it.”

 _That’s my stubborn wench_ Jaime thought with a grim smile. _Martyr ‘til the end._

“Brienne,” Jaime asked gently, covering her clenched right fist with his left hand. “Would you do something, for me?”

She looked at him, puzzled by his change in tone.

“Brienne,” he said again. “Will you let me kiss you once more?”

The words hung between them like the stars in the sky above. She nodded almost imperceptibly and moved closer, so her right knee was between his legs and they faced each other, kneeling. He barely heard her whisper, “I would like that.” His heart leapt in a bittersweet arc as he rested his stump on her hip and slid his hand behind her neck to draw her close. Brienne had to balance her hands on his chest to keep from lurching into him on the soft earth. This time, when his lips touched hers she pressed back, ever so sweetly. But when she began to pull away, he tightened his hold on her head, fanning his fingers deep into her hair. His lips parted and his tongue softly pried her lips apart and tentatively thrust into her mouth. 

With a little moan, Brienne wrapped her arms around Jaime’s neck and melted into him in a way he had never thought possible of her, giving herself over to the kiss. Jaime firmed his thighs to support their weight. Feeling Brienne abandon herself to him filled him with tenderness, and something more wanton. As she gingerly tried twirling her tongue with his, he felt the blood surging to his manhood. He was hungry for her, for everything she would give to him. He sucked on her lower lip, lightly biting it, and her arms tightened around him. Through his linen tunic, he could feel her quickening breaths pressing her slight breasts against his chest. 

Jaime released her head and ran his hand down her back to the curve where her waist swelled into her buttocks. He wrapped his arm around her there and pulled her hips tight against him, causing her to exhale sharply. Then his mouth was on her neck, ringing her throat with soft kisses. She squirmed a little and brushed against his manhood, sending a thrill up his spine. He wasn’t sure whether he should stop. He wasn’t sure if he even could. The whole world shrank to the size of the apple orchard, and he and Brienne were the only people in it. Breinne- so inexperienced- was unlacing the drawstring neck of his tunic, her fingers lightly brushing the fine golden hairs on his broad chest. Her eyes shone with trust and desire. She bent to touch her lips to his collarbone. _Gods, I want to be with her,_ he thought, rocking back and looking up at the stars. _And not just for tonight._

Jaime swallowed hard. He reached out to cup a breast through the fabric of her bodice, but she grabbed his hand as quickly as if it held a dagger. “Jaime,” she whispered, pushing him away. “No. It is ill done.”

“Always the damned honor!” Jaime scrambled to his feet, strode away, turned and returned to her. Sat down on the damp grass.

“Brienne. You shouldn’t have to suffer the brute at all. But let me take your maidenhood gently, as you deserve. At least I can spare you that.”

A frown pulled at Brienne’s lips and puckered her brow. “Oh,” she said in a small, dry voice. “You would do that, for me. Rescue me again?” A choked laugh. “Don’t mock me, not tonight.”

“Does this feel like mockery, wench?” Jaime retorted, pushing her down onto her back and kissing her hard, fiercely wrenching her legs apart with his knee and letting her feel the hard bulge in his breeches against her hip. Knowing her strength as well as his own, he let his full weight bear down on her as his left hand grasped her right wrist and his stump pinned down her left arm. Of course, she could have thrown him off. He thrilled when she didn’t. “Yes, I want it too,” he barked out hoarsely. “I want you. Gods, I want you. Brienne, say you want me too?”

“Jaime, it cannot be. If I come to the marriage bed not a maid….”

“You’ve been examined by the Maester. Many horsewomen do not bleed the first time, everyone knows this. Crakehall wants Tarth. He doesn’t give a shit about you or your honor.” While Jaime waited for her answer he allowed himself to press his lips and tongue against the tender hollow just behind her ear. She shivered. “It will be an odd little irony, my wench. Your first time; my last.”

Brienne twisted out from under his weight and propped herself up on her elbows. “I would not ask that of you. Cersei…”

“No, not Cersei. No one. There can be no one after you, Brienne. After all, I am sworn to celibacy.” He winked, trying to lighten the moment, though it was probably too dark for her to see.

In response, Brienne flung one leg over him and deftly flipped him on his back with her legs astraddle him. Jaime had a brief moment to grin before her mouth was on his, devouring him with desperate kisses. “If you are toying with me, Lannister, I will cut off your other hand” she hissed.

“Why then, I couldn't do this,” Jaime quipped, as he grasped an end of her bodice lacing and pulled it free from the knot that held the gown closed. Sitting back on her heels, Brienne shyly undid the stays on her under tunic, exposing her chest. All his joking was silenced when the moonlight gleamed on her pale skin. Her stomach was taut, and though her breasts were still slight, they had filled out into soft curves perfectly balancing her fine muscles. Her shell pink nipples were small and hard, and Jaime forgot he was missing his right hand when he reached to let his fingertips play across her body. Brienne’s head fell back as a sigh escaped her lips, and she let her hands drop onto Jaime to steady herself. Her fingers grazed his stifled cock and he shocked at the touch. 

Eyes widening in understanding, Brienne began to pat and rub his member through his clothes as one might pat a sleepy puppy. Jaime almost chuckled at her innocence, but he was glad of it: he was so aroused that a more skilled touch could have sent him tumbling over the edge right then. “Lay down, Lady Brienne,” he told her, gently extricating himself from between her legs.

For once, the wench did as she was told. Brienne lay back amongst the fallen leaves while Jaime positioned himself propped up on his right elbow. His silken hair lightly tickled her breasts as he reverently kissed each nipple in turn, nuzzling it lightly between his teeth. She groaned, running her palms along his shoulders. Then she gathered up his damp tunic and pulled it over his head. The cool night air felt good on his bare skin. Brienne dragged her strong fingers up his sweat- slicked back, leaving flames in their wake. Her nimble hands kneaded his shoulders, then, pulling his head up to hers, her lips were in his hair; at his temples; on his mouth, her back arching so that his chest hair brushed her nipples and her hungry mouth found the juncture of his neck and shoulder. 

“Your skin,” she breathed. “Jaime.”

He felt he had never been so aroused. His used his quivering left hand to slowly draw up her long skirts.

“Maybe dresses aren’t so bad on you, wench,” he said. The look on Brienne’s face was equal parts pleasure and terror, and her legs were pressed together uncertainly. Jaime skimmed his hand lightly up her thighs, over her modest white smallclothes to rest on her flat tummy. He crooked a finger over the top of the thin linen garment that guarded her secrets, and felt her freeze. “I’m only going to touch you now” he murmured reassuringly, sliding his finger back and forth along the drawstring waist, tugging the flimsy things down until he was able to slip his hand into them. When his fingers touched her fine hairs he felt a twinge of fear. If they were discovered, Cersei could easily have his head, and Brienne would lose her precious honor forever. His eyes nervously scanned the dark orchard. Worse yet, there could be no going back to their easy friendship. 

_She’s not yours, fool. She’s already gone,_ a voice in his head mocked him. _Take her now or you’ll never have the chance again._ He walked his fingers farther down. Her bush was unexpectedly silky, and the feel of it sent a lurch through his manhood, still uncomfortably trapped inside his breeches. Jaime exhaled his fears away and slid one finger through her curls and between the lips of her cleft, pressing ever so gently as it curved into the satin folds. _She’s wet. She does want me, too._

Brienne was breathing hard into Jaime’s shoulder, eyes scrunched closed, fingers digging into his back as if holding on to the edge of a precipice. “Relax. This is supposed to feel good,” he playfully scolded. She took a slow, practiced breath and loosened her grip on his shoulder. “Good. Now, lift your knees a bit.” She did. As Jaime stroked between her legs, she tilted her hips up to allow his finger to slide deeper inside her. When he slowly worked the second finger in she flexed her back like a cat, opened her knees wide for him and ground herself against his hand. “Gods, Brienne.” Jaime suddenly feared he would spill his seed before even getting his cock out of his breeches. He had to turn away, calm himself. He tried to withdraw his hand from under her smallclothes without startling her but they twisted around his rough knuckles and when he jerked away, a panel of crumpled fabric was in his fist. Panting, he scrambled to undo his breech laces with one hand, to ease the pressure. He tried to think of the cleaning supplies he needed to order for the Kings Guard, attempting to stay the storm in his body. 

When he turned back to Brienne, he found she had covered herself modestly with her skirts. “Why did you stop? What did I do?” She asked him. 

“Everything you are supposed to,” he reassured her. He pushed her skirts off her long legs and ran his hand up her inner thigh.

“Thanks be for the dark,” Brienne muttered as she lay back down. Jaime looked upon her, shaken. For all his bravado he suddenly doubted himself, unsure if he could please a woman who wasn’t his sister. He could easily take her maidenhead gently, as promised, right now- but suddenly it was important that she enjoy herself the way Cersei sometimes did, or pretended to. He wanted to see her wracked by waves of pleasure, insensible, calling out his name. Brienne waited patiently in her rumpled dinner gown among the sticks and mud. Jaime was covered in dank sweat and bits of straw, his beard was gruff and he strongly suspected he stank. 

“It is indeed dark, “ he said tenderly. “But I would gaze upon you full in the light. On silken sheets, no less, as befits a beautiful maiden.” Jaime smoothed Brienne’s skirts back over her legs. He picked at the strings to her bodice, then looked deep into her eyes. “Brienne. This is no way for a lady to be seduced. I won’t take you in the dirt like a common village wench. I think a Lannister can do better.”

Emotions raced across Brienne’s face. She sat up and tugged her bodice closed protectively. Understanding her distress, Jaime seized her hand and pressed it urgently against his cock, which thrust out between the undone laces of his leggings and strained against his underclothing. She glared and tried to pull away when she felt his hardness, but he wouldn’t loose her hand. An involuntary thrill shivered in his belly at the contact. “This is how much I want you, wench,” he growled. “Do you understand?” He released his grasp on her and ran a shaking hand through his tangled hair. “I will come to you tomorrow, in your rooms. None will see me. Get rid of your maids- tell them you must pray, or stitch on your wedding crap- anything. Can you do that?”

A nod. 

“Good.” He rose, pulling Brienne to her feet. Jaime used his left hand to roughly brush the leaves and grass from the back of her dress. She didn't move to help him lace his breeches, so he was reduced to covering himself with the untucked tunic. “Come.” He brusquely crashed through the trees, heading for the Keep. Wordlessly, Brienne followed. At the edge of the orchard he stopped. “You go ahead.” She ducked her head and darted past him.

“Wait…” he pulled her back by her sleeve, crushing her to his chest for a long moment. “Tomorrow.” And then she fled, and he was alone with his pounding heart.

***

Upstairs in Jaime’s tower rooms, he didn’t bother to light a torch. Breinne’s ripped and crumpled smallclothes were in his pocket. He pulled them out- still damp –and buried his face in them to inhale her scent. He was trembling as if he were the maid, thoughts swirling. _What has she done to me?_ He wanted to fuck her like rutting beasts; to carry her away to the Free Cities and buy her a Lordship of her own- an entire army to keep her safe, if she wanted one. He wanted to wrap her in silks and velvets and seat her next to him for all to see. The last thought made him snort- _Brienne would care for that least of all._

Jaime cast the plain white linen scraps down upon his pillow, sinking onto the bed with his face beside them. He fumbled at his breeches until he was able to wrap his hand around his stiff cock. She had been so wet when he slid his fingers down to explore her womanhood. She had lusted for him, her strong hips twisting into him…she was a maiden, untouched, and she had desired him. He pressed his mouth into the pillow to stifle his groans, willing himself not to wake his brothers in arms. As the sweet musk of the wench permeated his senses, Jaime exploded into his hand, finding relief at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, yeah. I wrote this with NCW in my mind and on my screen. what can I say?


	6. lies and truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne starts to get her girl-power groove back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so reading through the wonderful works on this site I am really loving the sort of "anything goes" vibe. If anyone likes games...guess who snuck into my story? I misnamed Sera because I didn't recognize her until this chapter. But she's from a childhood fave. I gave a few clues...

lies and truths

 

Brienne felt sunlight warming her eyelids.  She stretched her legs out under the bed linens, flexing and pointing her toes to enjoy the pull through her calves.  Eyes closed, she breathed in deeply through her nose, filling her lungs. The bed was far too delicious to fully wake, tugging her away in a white cloud. She could hear Sera, her Lady’s maid, quietly sweeping out the grate and half wondered how late it was. 

Suddenly Brienne tensed as the memory of last night flooded her mind.  She had the odd sensation that there must have been another Brienne – not herself- in the clearing with Jaime. A kiss was one thing.  All the best stories ended with a chaste kiss.  And of course, she knew what other people did, in the dark.  But she had let him put his fingers- _How could he have even wanted to do such a thing?_   She couldn’t bear to think about it.  And then a small dark hole at the edge of her heart burst open and the memory of Ser Lyle Crakehall climbed through.  The orchard was a dream. The reality was her wedding.  It was coming, and with it the act of begetting a child.  And after that?  _There won’t be a bedding. Will there?  Surely not._   Lady Cersei hated her, though.  Of that Brienne was certain.  Cersei would enjoy the humiliation of a Bedding.  Maybe Margaery could put a stop to it, if she could bring herself to ask.  _Maybe I ought to wear my dirk and stop it myself._

As much as Brienne tried to steel herself to accept her fate, she found her thoughts creeping back to the orchard.  Like worrying at a scab, running a nail first under this corner, then scratching a bit off the surface, she warily allowed her mind to pick around the edges of last night, careful not to start a fresh bleed.  She flopped her body over and buried her face in a pillow so she could relive the moments without exposing her face to Sera.  _Let me think on it a just moment.  I may as well still be asleep…I will put it away when I arise, but let me think on it now._

He had threatened to come to her chambers this day.  Would he?  Or would he have forgotten all about it? She began to feel panicked.  Last night he had crashed into the clearing like a wounded beast.  She had sought to comfort him- and being a man, naturally he had wanted the act.  She might even have allowed it; let him take his pleasure on her.  It was deeply shocking to Brienne that she could have thrown away her virtue so carelessly.  Her virtue:  a bit of flesh carefully guarded, only so that it could be ripped through later in one quick moment by a man chosen for the task without her consent.  Her body had been bruised and scarred so many times.  Nobody cared about how much honor or virtue she may have shown in those battles. Only her maidenhead mattered.  And Lannister, of course, would feel so casually entitled to take it.

But, no. That was dishonest.  _'A lie to oneself is the most dangerous lie,'_ she admonished herself.  He had been the one to comfort her.  She had wept before him like a girl, and he had led her nowhere but that she had gladly followed.  Truly, she had desired more; and even worse, he knew it.  When he had lain on her and she had felt it, his hips pressing it into her…her embarrassment was almost a physical pain.  Had he merely taken pity on her, as he said?  Wanting to ease her bedding while he eased his conscience?  She couldn't possibly face him.  If he came to her, out of duty, she would plead sick.  She hated that he had seen her so weak and sniveling.

A knock at the outer door diverted her attention.  She opened an eye.  “For the Lady Brienne of Tarth, from Lord Commander Ser Jaime Lannister,” said a male voice.  

“Eh, that’s nice, inn’it?” Sera replied cheerfully.  “M’ Lady is yet abed.  I’ll see that she gets them.”

“Please do,” said the voice.  “Ser Lannister was most insistent she receive them this morning.”

Brienne swung her legs out of bed. “Sera!” she called, her interest piqued.  “What is it?”

The girl bustled into the bedchamber holding what appeared to be a large bundle of folded cloth wrapped up with a preposterous red and gold damask bow.  Brienne tugged the bow free and lifted the fine cloth.  She raised a puzzled glance to Sera.

The maid laughed.  “Them’s silken bedsheets, M’Lady, and I’ve seen none finer!  Go on, feel them!”  Brienne fingered the heavy brushed ivory silk.  It was thick and soft as moleskin.  She raised a fold to rub against her cheek and a square of vellum fluttered out while the neat bundle unspooled onto the floor.  Brienne held the card in her lap, a dazed smile playing on her lips, as Sera sailed the sheets out with a flick of the wrist and briskly refolded them.  “Ser Jaime Lannister,” the maid mused as she worked.  “An’ he’s the one as was our grumkin in the night, I recall.  Fair of face, that one.  Two sets here, M’Lady.  Must be a wedding present, eh?”

Brienne looked down and turned over the card.  _He can barely write with his left hand,_ she thought with a pang.   She squinted.  “These are not a wedding present either,” was the simple inscription.  Sera’s bright eyes were watching her in anticipation.

The small lie was still big enough for Brienne to almost choke on.  “Yes.  A wedding present.”  Brienne folded the card.  Later she would tuck it into the little oilskin pouch that held her mother’s miniature and a smooth white stone form the beaches of Tarth. 

“Seeing as how he’s sent two sets, Lady, shall I make up your bed with one?  They’re ever so nice.”

“Yes, Sera.”  Brienne sprang to her feet, invigorated.  There was much to prepare. “Please do that.  I’d like a hot bath later this morning as well, and I’ll take a light breakfast in my chambers.  And I’ll need some kind of a looking glass or mirror.”  Sera raised an eyebrow at the last request, but nodded her understanding.

Brienne paced the floor while her maid smoothed the luxurious sheets over her pallet.  The guest chambers were small, but adequate.  A cozy fire usually burned in the grate before a low table and bench, the bed was firmly stuffed with goose down and sweet smelling herbs, and sun streamed in through the large window that opened to a southern view. White gauze panels fluttered in the light sea breeze.

“These are fit for a Queen’s bedding!” Sera was saying.  She was a pretty girl, plump and cheerful.  Brienne wondered how she managed to wear _her_ freckles like some girls wear shiny ear bobs.   She remembered Sera mentioning a certain young miller several times, and assumed that’s whom the maid met when she slipped out in the middle of the night.

“Sera, do you have a mother?” Brienne asked.

“Aye, an’ 6 brothers an’ 4 sisters as is alive,” she answered.  “My sister Martha is a Lady’s maid to her grace Lady Margaery.”

“Did your mother ever teach you about...” she searched for the words.  “About becoming wed?”

“Becoming wed, M’Lady?  I’d like to someday, when my Jobe saves up a bit.”

“Yes.  No.  I mean, the night of the wedding.  The Bedding?”  Brienne tried to keep her voice steady, but she knew her face was red.

“Ahh.”  Sera had a mischievous grin.  “I think I see.  Are you askin’ me about the goin’s on, in bed like?”

“I grew up half in the stables,” Brienne quickly interjected.  “I know…what goes where.”

“Do you need an elixir to ensure a son, M’Lady?  I know a witch as lives down flea bottom who…”

“No!”  It was agony. “I was wondering how to make it nice.  I’ve heard it can be.  Nice.”

Sera scampered over and sat down next to Brienne like she was one of her own sisters.  She had a wicked twinkle in her eye.

“How to pleasure a man, an’ yourself as well.  Is that what ye wants to know?”

Brienne nodded stiffly. 

“Well,” began Sera.  “I’m not yet wed, so I don’t know anything first hand,” she winked.  “But I can tell thee what I’ve heard.  Like my friends and sisters talking, eh?”

“Please,” managed Brienne.

“First thing is, yes it can be nice, nicest thing there is!  Though it hurts a bit the firs’ time.  Or so they say.”  She apprised Brienne.  “You’ve seen a naked man?”

“Yes,” Brienne admitted.  Jamie.

“An’ you’ve seen one’s member?” A nod.  “It’s just that they don’t like it if you were to laugh, or get skairt’ of it.  Though maybe pretend to be a wee bit skairt’, like it’s so big an’ powerful an’ that.”  Sera laughed merrily, and Brienne smiled.   _That much is surely true._

Sera looked around and picked up the small, sheathed dagger Brienne kept on the bed table.  “So, let's pretend this is his manhood,” she began. 

Half an hour later, Brienne’s head was reeling and her face was bright red.  The girl had been so friendly, so unashamed when she spoke of the acts of love.  As if it were normal for a woman to want to do those things.  Brienne was grateful to her, and told her so.

“I’m just happy you’ve taken to him, M’ Lady,” she said, carefully.  “Some of us, we weren’t so sure you would even have him.”

“Have who?”  Brienne asked stupidly, realizing her mistake in an instant. Some of the sunlight fled the room when the specter of Crakehall was raised.  “Ser Lyle _must_ be my Lord husband.  My father has pledged it.”  She chewed the edge of a fingernail for a moment.   “The honor of a Lady depends upon submitting to the will of men.  Our ‘virtue’ is our most precious coin yet we have no say in the spending. A Lord or a Knight may chose his lover; a Lady must not.” _Has Father even met that grunting boar he's chained me to?_

“As you say, M’Lady.”  Sera nodded. “It’s different for us common born folk, I suppose.” She rose and began to tidy the room.  “It’s just that it seems a bit of a shame, like?  That you must put away your armor now.  My sisters, the little ones, I told them about you and they love to play at being the Lady Knight- going on adventures, an' saving people.” 

Brienne sat thinking.   _Nobody was saved and happy endings are a just another lie I told myself._   She knew a long time ago the game was fixed for girls like her.  But she had thought if she played the part of Knight, followed those rules…

Sera was just about to lift the velvet square wrapped around Johanna Lannister’s sapphire when Brienne sprang up to snatch it away, seconds too late. The necklace tumbled onto the bedside table with a clatter.  Sera gasped at the stunning gem.  “Oh, M’Lady.  It’s right beautiful.  Another wedding gift?” she asked, tilting the stone to catch the light. 

“Not exactly.” Brienne knew guilt was writ large on her burning face.

“Is it from Ser Crakehall then?  It will look well on you, M’Lady.  I’ve never seen anything so lovely.”  Sera glanced up from the glittering jewel and startled at Brienne’s frozen expression.  She searched Brienne’s face for a long moment, eyes narrowing.  Then she looked back down at the necklace.  She fingered the signature Lannister gold chain links, then cut her eyes to the fresh silken sheets before she raised her gaze again to Brienne, thoughtful.

“Whoever gave you this must have very high regard for My Lady.”  Sera said deliberately.  “Tarth- isn’t it called the sapphire isle?”

“It is,” Brienne all but whimpered.

A broad, slow smile lit up Sera’s face.  “Like I said, it suits you very well, Lady. Very well indeed. I’ll see about your nice bath now.  Perhaps I should order some wine as well, and a bit of bread and cheese for later?  I plan to visit my old mam today, you know.  I won't be back until quite late. After dark, you may depend upon it.”  She grinned lasciviously at her mistress and swept into the hall.

Brienne exhaled.  Jaime would come to her today.  This time there would be no sniveling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not much in the way of plot. But Brienne is a very strong and determined person, and I felt like I was making her seem...not.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who comments.
> 
> Oh! It's Martha, the maid from The Secret Garden.


	7. tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime can still be a bit of an asshole (old habits die hard)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I was on a little vacation in Memphis TN which is a great town for music but not so much for motivation! Also I lifted a line from Eric Clapton's Bell Bottom Blues.

tears

 

The summons came just as his valet was unwrapping a hot towel from Jaime’s face in preparation for his shave:  Cersei commanded his appearance “at once.”

He let her wait while the valet did his job, and then he let her wait while he paused outside her chambers, suddenly apprehensive.  He tried to remember how it felt to be in command of an army, then steeled himself and entered, sliding the bolt behind him.  “Cersei?” he called.

The only response was the soft music of water gently splashing into a basin.  Jaime followed the sound into his sister’s inner chamber.  She was waiting for him in a large enameled tub, naked.  _The water must have grown cold by now.  She’ll be annoyed._ He bared his teeth in a smile.

Cersei didn’t look angry, though.  With a sweet face, she gracefully rose up from the water, streaming wet hair covering her breasts.  “Jaime- my robe?” she asked, turning her back on him and looking coyly over her shoulder.  Cersei still had a beautiful ass, untouched by the childbirths and nursing that had softened her breasts and tummy.  She was sensitive about those parts, never quite believing that Jaime didn’t think her less beautiful.  A tiny rivulet snaked its way down from her dripping hair to disappear between those rounded cheeks. 

 _So this is what she has in mind_.  The robe was easily within reach of Cersei, but  Jaime went to her and tried to hold it open as she shrugged her slender shoulders into the sheer white material.  “Why am I here, Cersei?”

“I miss you so much, Jaime.  I want to call a truce.  You seem so cold now, and I want us to be like we were, before you went away.”

“You’ve been avoiding me like the plague.  Why am I here?”

Cersei stepped closer, close enough that he caught the oil of myrrh she used to scent her baths.  “I’m tired of trying to pretend to be someone I’m not.  I’m not as strong as you are.”  She nestled her head against Jaime’s shoulder while her small fingers stroked his collar. She let her fingers tease down to pinch the end of his breech- lacing and gave it a slow, even pull.  Jaime let her work her hand in until she was gently cupping his balls, scratching the back ever so lightly with her manicured nails.  “You’re so beautiful, Jaime.  Is it that hard to believe I’m helpless when you’re around?” she murmured into his chest.

 _She’s so damn good at this_. _If we could go back…_ He realized he’d been holding his breath and exhaled. “I’m sorry, sweet sister.  Didn’t you know? I’ve lost my taste for helpless types.”

“You know I’m not helpless!” she hissed, tightening her grasp on him to an uncomfortable squeeze.

“Helpless as a rattlesnake, Cersei, and at the moment you seem to have me by the balls.”

“Very well, brother.” Cersei’s hand slithered out of his pants and she turned away, hugging her thin robe around her as if the damp cloth could ward off a chill.  “Something _has_ happened.  It’s Tommen.”

“Tommen?” he asked sharply.  “Is he…?”

“Yes, he’s fine.  But the other day, when we were walking along the harbor, Tommen wanted to watch the fish.  He leaned too far- he’s just a little boy!”  Cersei pressed a fist hard against her mouth.  She would never let herself cry unless it served a purpose.  “He was in the water-!”

 Jaime froze. “But Loras?”

“Loras jumped in at once.  Tommen is safe, he was only soaked and cold and scared.  But Jaime, I was so frightened!”  The panic in Cersei’s green eyes could not have been feigned.  “After Joff died right before me…  Jaime, I couldn’t live without my children!”

“Myrcella is well.”

“She’s NOT well!  She’s disfigured!”  Cersei spat.  “They cut her because she’s my daughter!  Who could ever want a woman with a hideous scarred face?”

 _Touché, sister._ “Myrcella will make a good marriage.  She's still a charming girl, smart and kind hearted. She might even find a man who looks past her face and adores her.” Jaime replied levelly. 

“Thanks to the Gods she comes with Baratheon lands and Lannister gold!  Otherwise, she would be shunned.” Cersei took a calming breath. “Jaime, I _need_ another child. If anything should happen to Tommen…”

“The game of thrones would begin again and you would find yourself short on playing pieces.”

“No!” She raised her hand as if to strike him.  “How can you even say that to me?  I don’t care about the throne, not anymore.  Not after Joff.  I hate this place, always looking over my shoulder, always fearing for the children.  I want to go home, to Casterly Rock, and I want a baby, just for myself. Please, Jaime.  If you ever loved me, plant your seed in my belly.”

“If you ever loved _me_ , Cersei, you couldn’t be asking this.” He turned away, speaking half to himself. “It’s time to let it go.”

She blinked at him, uncomprehending. “Let go half my soul?  How could I breathe?  Jaime!  I’ve _never_ stopped loving you!  You’re the one who’s changed!”

“Cersei, stop!  You’re not thinking this through.  Who would you claim as the father?  And until my service in the Guard ends, Tyrion is master of Casterly.  The brother you tried to murder?”

“Tyrion is dead.”

“What news do you have of him, Cersei?” he demanded with troubled eyes.

“Naught.” She shook her head.  “But he _must_ be dead, though unfortunately not by my men.  He was weak, he could never survive alone. You should be glad he’s gone!”

Jaime felt as if a cloak had slipped off his shoulders and it was his heart shedding another layer of love for Cersei, pooling like tears at his feet. A man could drown in a pool like that.

 “Kevan is steward of Casterly now, but _you_ are the rightful heir.”  Cersei padded sinuously across the thick carpets until she faced her brother.  She lifted her heavy locks and let them cascade down her back, exposing the front of her body to Jaime.  Her light robe was saturated with water, clinging to her rounded breasts.  Dark nipples stood erect under the sheer material.  She lifted her hand to caress his right shoulder, then ran her fingertips lightly down the arm.  Jaime waited for her to flinch as she unpinned his shirt to expose the puckered stump; she did her best to hide it.  Taking the stump in both her delicate hands, Cersei pulled Jaime closer.  She brushed the end lightly against the under curve of her breasts, closing her eyes and sighing as if she were coming home at long last.

  _I’m grotesque against her_.   Her breasts were even fuller and heavier than he remembered.  The wet fabric of her robe was almost painful against the sensitive, newly scarred tissue and he felt an answering pang in his crotch.

“Don’t think I’m not grateful for everything you’ve done for us, my love.  Everything you sacrificed to put our family on the throne.  I’ve _never_ blamed you for letting Ned Stark ruin it all.” She gazed up at him with eyes like green wildfire.  “You always promised you would do anything for our children, to have me as your wife.  I need you to make good on that promise now.  We’ll start again, and live the life we were meant to have.” 

“What are you saying?  Tommen and Myrcella…”

“Must always believe they are Robert’s blood.  But you will be father to our new child.  The heir to Casterly Rock.”

Jaime tugged his stump free from her grasp and ran it lightly down to her tummy. Taut and rounded below the soft accumulation of skin.  _Now, Kevan is  the heir to Casterly Rock through the male line, after me and  Tyrion.  What would happen to Cersei if Tommen died and Myrcella made a weak marriage?_

“Somehow I’m having a hard time picturing you embracing the role of incestuous recluse.”

“Recluse, perhaps.  Would that it were so!” she cried passionately.  “Jaime, don’t you see?  You must step down from the Kingsguard and take your rightful position as Lord of Casterly!  Then you can protect me, and our child, until the world  forgets about us and we can live as a family.”  Jaime thoughtfully let his stump trace a circle against the slight swell of her belly.  _But there is no child yet, Cersei. Or is there?_

“The Lord Commander does not merely step down from the Kingsguard.  I took a vow- I would have to stand trial for cowardice if I try to walk away from the guard.”

“Don’t be so stupid!” his sister exclaimed.  “This-“ she raised his stump to her mouth, but her lips curled in disgust when she brought it close and she had to stop short of kissing it.  “This is the best thing that could have happened!  You're not fit to serve: everybody knows it.”

“I _can_ fight, Cersei.  I bested the Maid of Tarth.”

Cersei made a noise between a snort and a wail.

“Do not underestimate her, woman.  She ranks among the best fighters I’ve seen.”

 “She _lets_ you beat her because she loves you, fool!  Tommen needs a _man_ to protect him.  Step down, Jaime. Take me home to Casterly. No one need know you are the father, as long as you live. “

“As long as I live.” _And how long may that be, oh my beautiful, sweet sister?_  “And I suppose Tommen would declare the child my trueborn heir should I somehow not live, much as he did for the Bolton bastard?” _You would name my dead body rapist to be mother to the heir of Casterly?_

“What else would you have me do, Jaime?  What’s _your_ plan to save our home?  Already that Tyrell slut is taking Tommen farther away from me with each passing day.  Shall we lose Casterly as well?” She paced a moment.  “We could say I was simply…overcome by an admirer.  We can say it was Osmond, and try him.”  She chuckled derisively. “ Perhaps I’ll choose the new Lady Crakehall as my champion, if she is so fine a fighter.  Then you could adopt the babe, it is a common enough thing for an uncle to do!” 

Cersei closed her eyes to center herself, then straightened her spine.  Skimming her own palms lightly over her breasts, she ran her hands down and then up her body in a sensuous caress, pulled her robe open, and let it drop to the floor.  She brought her hands back to her breasts as if to cover them in modesty, but instead kneaded them, pushing the soft flesh together, rolling her nipples lightly.

Silently begging any gods who might be listening for strength _,_ Jaime turned his back on her.   _Osmond- he would be an eager puppy thinking to play with a hungry lioness._

In the center of the chamber stood an elaborately carved mahogany table upon which rested glass a bowl, piled with gleaming cherries.  Jaime did his best saunter over to it.  “Nothing like rare delicacies in a time of famine, beloved sister.”  He carefully selected a deep red fruit, bit into it.  _Tart._ “Cherries.  The fruit named after the sweet cunt of a maiden- or was it the other way around?  Delicious.  It’s been so long since I tasted one.”  He turned to Cersei.  “Was it hard for you, the first time you fucked another man?”

“No. Because I did it for us.  Was it hard for you, the first time you broke an oath?”

“Yes, it was. I did it for honor, and to save my own ass.  And you, sister?  Was betrayal also easy for you?  Your first murder? Your first lie to me?  These vices become so much easier with practice, do they not?”

She stood exposed, forlorn. She sank to her knees and looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Do you want to see me crawl across the floor to you?  Do you want to hear me beg you to take me back?”

Jaime calmly ate another cherry.  “If I step down from the guard, you will be the one to name the replacement.  Do you happen to know any young knights up to the task?”

“A mere detail, Jaime,” Cersei sighed with relief, tears squeezing out of pressed lids.  “It matters not…”

“Oh, it matters a great deal to me.  One might even say it was the deciding factor. The knight you select must be able, loyal, kind, _honorable_ …but as serving Lord Commander, I don’t think a _cock_ is strictly necessary.” He let the implication hang in the air.

Cersei rose to her feet, staring at him. “You bargain to protect your pet? How can you even think of her at a time like this?”  Her hands were clenched in fists of rage.  “They called her your whore but I wouldn’t believe it.  I'd have thought you'd bugger Loras before touching _that_ beast.  How _dare_ you ask me to spare _her_ from marriage?  After all I have endured…” She was spitting in fury.  “Your freak from Tarth shall indeed wed Crakehall -and I shall insist on a bedding so we can all finally be certain exactly what’s between those hairy legs!”

Jaime’s phantom right hand itched to silence her shrieks and he raised his stump before regaining control.  “That will never happen, Cersei.  And there’s nothing wrong with what’s between Brienne’s legs.” He popped another cherry into his mouth, rolled it on his tongue and positioned it between his incisors to leer at his sister before sinking his teeth in.  The fruit burst sweet juice and recalled for an instant Brienne’s wet mouth on his last night.  _I must leave before I fuck her or beat her or both._

Spitting the pit onto Cersei’s rich carpets he strode toward her, circled her  waist with his right arm and jerked her tight against him, forcing a gasp from her lips.  His left hand splayed across her bare ass cheek, fingers delving into the cleft as he ground her golden mound hard against his aching need, almost freed from his unlaced breeches.  His lips drove into her creamy neck, biting and sucking violently as he half shoved, half dragged Cersei back towards her enormous gilded bed, hung with crushed velvet and strewn with furs and pillows.

Cersei’s hands were in his hair and his fingers were in her cunt, rough and deep.  He desperately drank in the scent and feel of her.  She was responding, moaning his name, trying to get her mouth on his when he shoved her harshly away from him, onto the bed.

Two sets of green eyes- identical in color but discordant in expression glared into each other. A tear welled up in one, quivered, overspilled.

“Thanks for the offer, Cersei.  I’ll be sure to think about it,” he sneered down at her, stuffing himself back into his pants as best he could and wiping her wetness off his fingers.  Walking to the bowl of cherries, he picked it up; cradled it in the crook of his right arm.  “Mind if I take these cherries?" he called as he walked out her door.  "I just can’t seem to get enough of them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I think the relationship between Jaime and Cersei is fascinating. This chapter was a breeze for me to write but a beast to clean up and edit, still not exactly sure it says what I wanted it to. In my little fanfic world Jaime is loyal and loves his sister, yes... But he's not dog- loyal and she's been losing him for years. Trying to have Tyrion killed is perhaps the last straw for him. But those scales falling from his eyes do cause him anguish even as they give him some freedom and clarity. I love to see how others write these two!  
> Anyway- thanks as always for bearing with my ramblings and reading.


	8. cherries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime continues to wade through the morass of angst but thinks he sees a path out; Brienne gets her freak on like a good knight would. Long, NSW.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Add me to the group that struggled lately. Wow. I tried, but couldn't get it any shorter. And listen, if you're reading this and you're under 15 or so, for god's sake close your browser window because I don't want your mom getting all pissed off at me! This might cross the line from smut to the 4 letter P word, or it might just be a big gooey wedge of cheese. In any case, do me a solid and leave a comment because this one was hard to finish and even harder to post.
> 
> Oh, and thanks to Smokey Robinson for the lyric I plagerized :-)

cherries

 

For the second time that day, Jaime paused outside a woman’s chambers to get his bearings.  The encounter with Cersei had left his head spinning and heart aching.  If she _was_ with child, he’d have to come up with a plan to shield her, and soon- but he was certainly not going along with _her_ scheme.  Play father to another man’s bastard and whisk her back to Casterly for a happily ever after?  It was far too late for that.  The thought of Brienne on the other side of the door was making his chest tight and his palms clammy.  He felt foolish carrying a great bowl of cherries to her rooms, lingering like a criminal in lesser-used passageways to avoid being seen.  Brienne was usually such easy company, but he knew not what to expect today.  _She might as soon kiss me with her blade as with her lips_. As long as she did not stonily accuse them of bloody dishonor, or weep.  _Anything but tears._

He heard someone coming so he tried the door and, finding it unlatched, slipped inside.

Brienne was at the window.  She whirled around, settling like a cat into a defensive posture: knees soft, arms up.  When she saw that the intruder was Jaime, she relaxed.  She had dressed in a simple tunic of soft, cream colored brushed cotton over light wool leggings. And leather boots. _Inauspicious footgear_.  He could not see her face in the penumbra of the midday sun behind her, glinting off her hair, and she did not speak.  Casting his eyes about nervously, he noted with relief that the bed was made up in the silks.  He had spent half the morning procuring those magnificent sheets, but regretted sending them the instant the page left his sight. 

 _Say something clever, idiot._ He had not expected her to rip her own bodice open, but neither had he anticipated himself at a loss for words.  “I brought you some cherries, Brienne.” _That was not clever at all._

But she came to him, her face alight with smiles. “On Tarth we had an entire orchard of cherry trees.  They used to make all us children play there when the trees were fruiting, to scare away the birds and squirrels.  Of course we ate most of the cherries ourselves.  At first frost, cook would always bring out the dried cherries and make a whole meal of them, to remind us of summer.  The best was the dried cherry jam mixed with whipped sweet cream.  We would eat it with tiny gilded spoons, like fine ladies.”

They sat on her bench eating cherries and talking about their childhoods.  She seemed at ease, but her eyes flickered nervous. _How do I begin?_

He reached for her right hand, her sword hand.  With his thumb he felt the thick pads of callous at the base of each finger. He uncurled the fingers, pressed his lips to her palm, then turned his cheek into it.  With his eyes closed he felt the firestorm Cersei kindled begin to sooth as if washed away by the warm sea. He moved his lips to the inside of her wrist, preparing to submerge himself in her waters.

Abruptly Brienne rose, snatching her hand away.  She carried the bowl of cherries to her table, upon which stood a flagon of wine and two goblets. The wine glugged into a goblet; Brienne wrinkled her nose and drank deeply.  Jaime could have used a draught of courage too, but Brienne didn't offer any and he didn’t ask. She met his eyes over the empty cup, pleading with him not to jape about the wine she so seldom touched.   _I’m supposed to play the gallant warrior today,_ he silently mocked himself _.   I could just as easily play the maiden: I don’t know how to be with another woman_. Last night their hands and lips seemed to seek on their own accord, but today there were expectations, silences. He was afraid he would repulse her with the coarseness of his lust.

“Jaime.”  Her voice was tentative. “There is something I would say to you.”  She turned to the window again and looked out over the city to the sea.  “I have known it since we were at Harenhall.  I should have spoken before, but…I never found the words.”

 _No, no, no, Brienne.  Don’t do this to yourself._ But even as he dreaded what she was about to say, he longed to hear it. Cersei’s accusation rang in his ears: _“She loves you, fool.”_   How long had he known but pretended not to see?  He’d selfishly let her pour her love and her goodness over him and soaked it up like a dried husk, hoping it could wash him clean and return him to life.  And what of him, always running away to the orchard to be with her when the politics got too thick, or remembering a funny incident to make her laugh about later- this was his doing as well.

“When you killed Aerys…”

“What?  Aerys?”

“I know you made the honorable choice.  It must have been so hard,” she looked deep into his eyes, searching.  Disappointment dropped like a stone, but then he realized what she was telling him. “It was the only thing you could have done- you saved so many lives.  And for that you have lived with the shame of an oath breaker, a Kingslayer. It is unjust!”

Something dark and cold that had been chained in the pit of Jaime’s gut for years thawed just a little. “Unjust?  Perhaps.  Or maybe the gods always find a way to exact their price.” He covered his stump with his left hand.  “Brienne, I have done things for which I probably deserve to be put to death- things I’ve never been punished for.  Deeds that cannot be forgiven.”

“But you have done more good!  Life changes us. I _know_ you are an honorable man.”

 _Had I actually asked for innocence? It looks as if the gods have seen fit to give it to me.  How can she still believe in goodness or honor after what we have seen?_  Brienne’s eyes were shining with faith in him. _She expects too much._ The dark cold thing flexed its muscles. It was crowding the air from Jaime’s lungs _._   _How will I manage to corrupt this innocence before me? She offers her virtue for me to devour like a white walker, feeding my black soul. Will l somehow make a mockery of her honor?  Have I made her love me because it soothes me to see myself through her eyes for a moment before I cast her off to her own demons?_

“You are a fool if you really think me a decent man.  Have you forgotten the insults I hurled at you on our journey South? My own brother is a cripple and yet I never bothered to stay my tongue. I am sorry for that, by the way.”  _And if my father had laid a hand on this girl I, too, would have slain him myself. I’m so sorry, Tyrion._

She shook her head as if none of that mattered.  “It is I who ought to seek your forgiveness, for misjudging you. “

“Do you think it is honor that brings me to your bedchamber?  It isn’t.” 

“No.  But I cannot find dishonor in this either.  I am not breaking any vow _I_ made, doing no harm to another, nor myself…” She lifted her chin.  “Jaime, I am not frightened of my marriage bed.  No more than any other girl and maybe less than most.  I do not need you to ease that for me.  I don’t want you to think that.”  He nodded for her to continue.  “I grew up listening to the old tales of love and valor.  Valor I have seen, but love is not to be my fate.  Still, I wish to know…. I wish to know, just once, what the bards sing of.”  Her face reddened.   “If you are still willing.” She met his eyes, hands clasped in her lap.

 _She looks so young.  Or am I just that old? Tell her she can take a lover once she bears a son. Do not tempt the gods by touching her; it can only lead to pain._ The sunlight illuminated Brienne’s freckles like a spray of copper against the cream of her cheek.  The other side of her face was a twisted, sunken mess.  What 'lover' could see past that?  “I believe I can manage to at least play the part of the handsome knight, My Lady,” he said, flourishing his left hand as he japed a bow.

“Once, I thought that _I_ could be a knight if I learned to fight and followed the code.”  She smiled sadly. “Even in this, though- knights don’t lose their virtue when _they_ take their pleasure, but ladies…”

“You of all people know that we are each the sole guardians of our own virtue.  Perhaps this is unwise.  Tell me to leave and I’ll be gone _.”  Weak, Jaime. She needs you to be strong.  Strong enough to be the one to walk away._

“Do you wish to leave?  I would not have you take me to,… to bed,” he could see her struggling with the words, “out of pity, or some idea of duty.”

Jaime dropped his head into his hand.  He desperately wanted to touch her, to be with her.   But wasn’t it about time he thought of someone else for a change?  How could she find any peace as Lady Crakehall if she knew what real passion felt like? Wouldn’t it be wrong to satisfy his own lewd desires- and yes, hers also it seemed- only to give her up to a man like Ser Lyle?   _A taste of honey is worse than none at all_.  He wasn’t even sure he could bear to let her go once she lay vulnerable in his arms and became his. Then what?

On the other hand, she had already endured so much.  She said she wanted to know of what the ballads sang.  Beneath her armor and her muscles beat the heart of a woman, still a girl in some ways.  He could be that good knight for her.  He could worship her body until she cried out in pleasure, then rock her to sleep with sweet words.  He was wretched, hating himself for his growing arousal.  He raised his head, and the look on her face pierced his heart.

She had arranged her features into the mask he’d seen so often when they first met, the mask that concealed the pain with indifference.  He couldn’t let her look at him like that:  he made his choice.  He _would_ send her into marriage certain in the knowledge she was desirable, at least to an old cripple like him. He might have taken her to wife himself, if not for, well- everything.  To spend each day with Brienne, somewhere away from here… but the gods are not so merciful, that much was clear.  The only uncertainty was who would be punished for stealing this little moment of joy, and how much it would hurt.

“Brienne, my own knight in shining armor…” She raised an eyebrow. “I _never_ wish to leave.  I wish the world outside this door would blow itself to hell and you and I could stay in here, eating cherries forever.” _I do have a duty to you, though I may be powerless to make good on it._ Something tickled his cheek and when he reached to brush it away he was ashamed to find it was a tear.  And then there was another, and another. They stung, and he squeezed his eyes shut to hold them in. _When did I become so fucking weak_?  Jaime felt Brienne’s cool fingers on his face _._ The soft warmth of her lips touched each eye in turn.  His tears were salty when he tasted them on her mouth.

As if unseen floodgates had been smashed open, he clutched at Brienne and poured himself into her through a deepening kiss.  Her mouth held the bittersweet flavor of cherries mingled with tannins. Their teeth clashed and she flinched but he pursued, covering her mouth and delving with his tongue, wanting to know her from the inside out. He only realized his fingers were gouging her arm when she gently twisted free to lay her hand on his shoulder.   He pulled back then, but was unable to look away from her eyes- they were bottomless pools of absolution and he wanted to sink into them, disappearing until he forgot his own name.  His cock was already achingly hard and he knew he was beyond the point of leaving her chambers.  He wanted her to give him everything, and whatever price the gods exacted, he would gladly pay.

Her head cocked to one side, eyes flitting over his expression.  It was a look he’d seen often in the orchard, when she was trying to anticipate his next sword strike, waiting for his lead, her body lightly tensed for action. 

 _She truly is not a frightened girl._ The realization freed him of a certain terror and he placed his hand on her thigh, lightly massaging her firm muscles as he ran the hand up toward her hip.  His hair fell over his eyes as he leaned in to kiss her again, this time slowly, without desperation.  As if they had all the time in the world, his lips memorized her full mouth.   His thumb found her hipbone and his long fingers felt for the outline of her body through the soft wool of her leggings.  He moved his hand up, under her tunic, to bare skin, warm and smooth.

“Jaime!”

“Gods, yes, Brienne…”

“No, wait.  What about the chance of a child?”

Jaime sat back.  “You will be married in two weeks.” He shuddered.  “I can spill myself onto your belly.  Or, there is moon tea- I would bring it to you myself.”  _But moon tea does not always take, especially when overused._ “You know that if you do get with child, your duty to Crakehall would be done for a year or two. After all, I make excellent bastards.”  There was pain and bitterness in his voice, but also longing at the thought of a golden-headed child swinging a toy sword in the sun.

“Then plant your seed in me.  I shall be expected to bear children early and often.  I may as well commence.”

“If there is a child, Brienne- a child of mine, or even a girl child of his, send it here, to the Keep.  Margaery will agree to demand a foster, I think, and I will always be here to make sure no harm ever comes to it.  We could see each other when you visit, I would teach them…” 

She interrupted him with a sigh.  “You would have made a wonderful father, Jaime.  But your sister bears me ill will.”

“Something tells me Cersei won’t be here much longer, Brienne.”  She looked puzzled.  “She wants to go back to Casterly.  It seems she is eager to try her hand at mothering, herself.  I have not yet decided whether I shall permit it.  But be assured that as eldest male of house Lannister I _can_ compel my widowed sister to leave the court, and if I can’t then our son can, and will.  I believe Margaery will welcome the chance to be rid of her.” 

Brienne shook her head.  “Thank you for that.  It _shouldn’t_ be my time, but thank you.”  Then, wickedly, “I _knew_ you were a good man.”  She reached to untie the topmost closures to his shirt, pulled the collar wide open and rubbed her lips back and forth against his exposed skin. While her fingers worked at the remaining ties he opened his hand full against the small of her back.  He could feel the marvel that was her body:  breathing in and out, waist twisting to reach him, muscles tightening and rolling like lovers wrestling under a silk coverlet.  She fumbled at the last of the formal knots his valet used to dress him and tangled it hopelessly.  Impatient, she gripped the fabric in both hands and with a swift yank the braided cords tore apart. 

Jaime firmed his muscles so she would think him comely when she saw his bared chest.  _Cock a doodle do_ , he mocked himself.  She slipped the open shirt off his shoulders, letting her hands linger at his biceps, fingering the outlines of his muscle.

“I’ve wanted to touch you here, since I saw you in the baths,” she said.

“Just there?”

“No.  Not just there.  And maybe not just since the baths.” 

Brienne ran the back of a crooked finger lightly against the sun- brightened hairs curling around his nipple.  “What is it like to be so beautiful, Jaime?” she whispered.

“Let me show you.” 

 

 

****

 

“Let me show you,” he breathed.  His skin was so golden, his body so sleek. _His eyes do not flinch from my scars._ For a split second she doubted whether she was really awake, or if awake, if she was lucid.  Perhaps Jaime had come to her room simply to apologize for last night and she had brazenly propositioned him and ripped his shirt off.  She didn’t care.  This was her moment to fill herself with life before the door slammed shut and she was going to take it, as much as she could hold.  Like the dried cherries of her childhood, she would warm herself with the memory of it every time she felt the frost creeping in.  But that was for later.  This was now.  She had to pay attention and not miss a single detail.

She used her breath to push the fear away as her old master had drilled into her, and ran her fingertips over that burnished skin, bent to taste the bronzed nipple.  He smelled like a freshly kindled fire, green with life but edged with smoke. She wondered if he would put his fingers _there_ again, and the thought traveled down and twinged between her legs. 

Jaime stood, took her hand, and led her to stand beside her bed. He brushed the hair from her forehead with his good hand, trailed his fingers down her neck and along her collarbone.  She had not known a man's touch could be so feather light.  Her moved closer and she involuntarily stepped back, but there was nowhere to go.  Her knees were flush against the bed.

“Your eyes, Brienne,” Jaime said. “Are so lovely.  I have never seen the like.  Bluer than any heaven I can imagine.”  He worked his hand under her tunic again, trying to pull it up.  “Please, take this thing off.  I need to look upon you.”

It seemed to her that she couldn’t move for many breaths.  _This would be_ easier _with Crakehall.  I believe I would fear him less._   But Jaime was waiting, so she took hold of the hem of her tunic and pulled it up and over her head.  She wore a light under-shirt of cotton and Jaime was already trying to tug that up over her head too.  For a moment it tangled around her shoulders and then she stood before him, both of them naked from the waist up.  His breathing was ragged as his eyes took her in. They were almost of a height, but his shoulders broader, his hips narrower.  Her stomach was flat but less chiseled than his, and her waist curved in a way she had never paid mind to before Jaime laid his hand upon it and whispered her name, and “thank you.”  His eyes were hazy and he seemed almost drunk, although she knew he’d had no wine.

Jaime reached for her hand and interlaced his fingers with hers. He stretched both their arms out to the side, and then raised the hands, bending their elbows.  He pressed her arm back, flexing his muscles.  She pushed back against him a little harder, holding her ground.  They were indeed evenly matched for size and strength, but she saw her arm smooth and white against his tan one.  She wondered that her mannish size did not disgust him, but she could clearly see a bulge in his leggings that told her otherwise.  He released her hand and closed the gap between them.  When Jaime’s skin pressed full against hers, Brienne felt something clench and tighten inside, below her belly, and she knew her small clothes would be wet again.  But the feel of his chest hairs tickling against her breasts pushed away any worry of impropriety. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck, sank her face into the dark space where his hair, _his perfect hair_ , covered his neck, and twisted her torso lightly to slide his sweat glossed skin against hers, sending a frisson of heat rippling out to each limb. Jaime’s stump was at her back and his left hand traveled down to cup her bottom, running over the curves and kneading lightly.  He whispered in her ear, delicious nothings that she knew better than to believe.

Brienne tried to remember what Sera had taught her.  She pushed Jaime back a little and brought her hands down to unlace his breeches.  Her fingers trembled but Jaime helped, pushing the heavy fabric down and kicking off his boots until the breeches lay on the floor. He was wearing what must be men’s small clothes- undyed shorts of some soft, thin material that did absolutely nothing to constrain his cock, which was standing straight out, pushing to be free.  There was a small wet mark at the tip and she touched it, feeling every thread in the light silky stuff reverberate under her fingertip.  She slipped her hand into his shorts and wrapped her fingers around his member like a sword hilt this time, firmly but not too tight.  He groaned and she felt a strange, heady power, nothing at all like the power of the fight.  She slid her closed fist lightly toward his body, then away.  She had seen male nudity, of course, in the camps- but never like this.  She hadn’t understood they could be so hard.  How could it fit, up between her legs, when the opening was so small?  As she squeezed Jaime between her palm and fingers, stroking him, a tickle or an itch swelled in her own body. 

Jaime closed his hand tightly around her wrist, roughly pulling her hand away. “Wait, Brienne, I can’t…”  He fumbled at the buttons of her leggings, using his stump as well as his hand to try to push them down over her hips. “Bloody hells...”

Laughing a little, Brienne kicked off her own boots and slipped out of her leggings.  She had chosen the small clothes that Margaery’s own seamstress had made for her when they returned from the road.  They were dyed a pale blue and edged in Myrish lace- silly things, but she had thought they might enhance her femininity.  Now she saw Jaime had no eyes for her clothes or anything but her naked flesh. His hand roved through her hair, then over her breasts, then groped at her ass like a starving man let loose at a sumptuous feast.  His right arm wound around her back and held her close to him.  When he yanked her lacy underthings down and slipped a finger between her cleft a spark thrummed straight through her.  She moaned and her knees buckled.  He circled the finger until he found what he sought- a little bud that made her cry out and squirm against him.  She saw Jaime’s green eyes boring into her and held on to his neck for support- instead he cast her down upon the bed and ripped her small clothes off.

She managed to swing her legs up onto the bed before Jaime was on top of her, holding her shoulders down while his mouth covered hers, tongue delving deep, twining with hers. The length of his erection was so hard between her opened legs, and the texture of his small clothes on her untouched folds made every nerve scream with pleasure.  She twisted her hips into him, trying to rub his cock against the spot that was crying out to be touched or filled, she didn’t know.  She only knew she wanted to give herself over to him.

Suddenly Jaime lifted his body away from hers, panting.  He rested his forehead on her breastbone. 

“Do you feel beautiful yet, wench?” he muttered.  “Can’t you see yourself, adored, beloved?” He ran his hand tenderly down from her ribs, over her belly, trailing down to her strongly muscled thigh.  His fingers curled into a hard fist.  “Do you understand that I don’t know how to let you go?”

Brienne allowed herself to dissolve in the sweetness of his words. She didn't mind that he didn't mean them.  _He is giving me a gift.  He must care for me a little, anyway._ There was a sudden hot lump in her throat but she willed it gone.  _Beloved, he said._   “Yes, Jaime.”  She would give him the answer he sought.  “You make me feel like I could be beautiful.”

He pressed a kiss to the base of her throat, then circled each nipple in turn with his tongue.  The chill of the air where his mouth left wetness was almost painfully intense and she arched her back.  His fingers found that impossibly sensitive spot again just as his tongue traced around her navel. His head dipped lower, and he pushed her right thigh up hard with his hand and muscled her left leg wider with his shoulder, and suddenly she felt his nose tickle her other hairs, taking a great sighing breath and his tongue- _his tongue!_ was probing those secret folds.  She felt she could die of shame if she wasn’t already floating up to heaven as he found the small bud of pleasure.  He flicked it lightly with his tongue, then drew the front of his teeth gently across it.  Her entire body shivered and her legs opened wider. She twined her fingers in that leonine hair, helpless, as he drew firmer circles with his tongue and then slid a finger inside her, twisting and running it slowly in and out.  She squeezed her eyes shut and saw spots of gold exploding against the red of her lids.  Her body clenched and released and she wondered if maidens ever fainted during lovemaking for it surely felt as if she were floating and tumbling on a wave of the summer sea.  Her toes curled and she clawed her hands into the silky sheets to keep from falling. Jaime looked up grinning, his face wet.

“Jaime!  I… I…”

“Say you want me, Brienne.”  His eyes were intense.  “Say it!”

She would have laughed if she could catch her breath.  Surely he knew her body was crying out to be filled with him.  “I do.”

He rose onto his elbows and wiped his face on the sheet.  “I know you never lie, and I want you to _tell_ me.  _Please_.”

Slightly taken aback, Brienne closed her legs and drew him up face to face.  “I want you Jaime.  You know it. I want to, to feel you inside me.” _is that what he wants?_

“Why?”

 _Damn, Jamie!_   “Because you’re... handsome,” _beautiful, perfect-_ “and, I trust you, and you are a fine man, and a friend, and I…I want to drink from the cup, before it is too late!  There.” It all sounded so trivial.  It was no lie, yet there was so much more.  She thought she might have seen something like desperation in his eyes, but then he kneeled and she saw his manhood was half out of his small clothes.  She reached to push them fully down and he exhaled as his cock sprang free.  It was a deeper tawny pink than the rest of his body, rising from a tangle of damp curls. When she wrapped her fingers around it she could feel the blood coursing under the unexpectedly velvet skin.  He moaned and thrust himself into her hand.  Sera had told her how to take a man between her lips to pleasure him, and she thought to try but when he saw her intent he pulled away. 

“Brienne, no- I can barely hold myself as it is,” he told her.  He laid her back onto her pillow and positioned himself between her knees.  Resting on his right elbow, he used his hand to guide the tip of his cock to her maidenhood, sliding it up and down her slicked lips.  She was aching for his thrust, bucking her hips lightly into him, begging with her body -but still he held back.

“I’ve wanted you too, wench,” he said in a low voice.  “You can’t know how much.”  Then he plunged in.  His cock stretched and pushed at her and she felt her body spasm around it, but it didn't seem to go in very far.  He withdrew and thrust in again, gently.

 _I’m not made like other women.  My parts are all wrong just like the rest of me!  It won’t go in and everyone shall know I truly am a freak and Jaime will despise me,_ Brienne thought in a sudden panic.  She dug her heels into the bed to scramble away but they slid on the slippery sheets.  Jamie curled his arm around one shoulder and braced his chin into the other for purchase. He jerked back and thrust harder, sustaining the tension.   Brienne felt a pull give way, then a sharp sweet burning pain, and he filled her completely as muscles she didn't know she had quaked and grasped at him.  Jaime groaned and thrashed his head aside with bared teeth, and was still.  _Did he?  Was that?_ But he was yet tensed, trembling, controlling his breathing.  She knew he had not released.

“Have I hurt you?” he asked.

“There is no pain.”

Then he was moving again, slowly.  There was a metallic scent to the air of her blood, hot and sticky along with the slick and wet between them.  He was holding himself over her on his elbows and knees, easing his cock in and out carefully, as if she were made of glass.  Brienne wrapped her strong arms around his back and pulled him down, onto her.  It was harder to breathe but she wanted his weight to tether her to reality. As they moved in unison her mind flitted to the orchard, dancing with their steely blades, anticipating and parrying every move the other made.  Like lovers.

She raised her knees and opened her legs wide, tilting her hips up so he could bury himself completely, up to the hilt.  When he did, his body ground into that little bud of pulsing sensation and she cried out his name, grasping his ass with both hands to drive him deeper, writhing against him. 

 _I’m acting like a whore,_ she thought in shock _.  He must think me wanton.  A lady is not supposed to enjoy this so much!_ Quickly she released her hold on his cheeks and raised her arms over her head to lie benign on the pillow.  Jaime brought up his left hand and grabbed both her wrists, curving his pelvis into her with increasing need.  She turned her face into his arm and sucked hungrily at his skin with swollen lips. She could not still her hips from rising and falling with his.  Red heat was building in her like water behind a dam, pulling her down.  She remembered to open her eyes and his face was right above hers, watching with lidded eyes.  Then her body was shuddering around his member and he was calling out to her, grinding his hips into her, gasping for breath.  She grabbed his back hard then, because the dam had burst and the bed was spinning away beneath her.  She was tossed on the waves, crashing into the shore, the waves cresting over her again and again in bursts of red and gold. They lay entwined as the tide gradually ebbed and left them, spent, basking on the shore.

She became aware of their breathing, hard, as after a spar.  The scent of blood, sweat, and sex thickened the air. _This,_ she thought _. Just this._  Jaime was lying half off her, his contented face turned into her neck, his member, stilled, on her thigh between them.  She thought perhaps he slept, until he reached to finger a lock of her hair.

“Run away with me.”

 _Yes, Jaime, anywhere with you_.  She laughed softly, still winded. 

“I’m not jesting.  Run away with me, tonight!”

Suddenly her eyes burned.  It was too much.  She wormed herself out from under him, looked down.  Her thighs were smeared with blood and wetness.  The gorgeous ivory colored sheets were definitively stained.  Jaime saw her gaze and grabbed a handful of the silk, using it to gently wipe her clean.  “Two sets, wench.  This one is to burn,” he said with a wink.  “It’s good to be rich.  Now:  run away with me.”

“Jaime, stop.  That was….that was everything I might have wished for.  That was enough.”

“I’ve been called a selfish asshole more times than I care to count, Brienne, and it must be true, because that wasn’t enough for me.  I want more.  I want you with me, every day.  Run away with me.  We can leave tonight.”

Brienne pushed him away.  _He_ is _a selfish asshole_.  _Why can’t he just shut up?_

“And we would live in peace like the happy small folk forever after, because nobody would recognize us and we have the skills to earn our bread?”

“We could sail for the Free Cities.  I have plenty of money to set us up as merchants or whatever you wish.  Why not, Brienne?  How could you and I, together, be any less honorable than the fate your father has planned for you?”  He sounded stung.

“Ser Lyle, for one thing!  He would be within his rights to attack Tarth and claim it if I were to violate the marriage contract!  My father has no army to speak of.  I won’t do that to him.”

“I wonder.” Jaime scrubbed his face with his hand.  “I wonder if we could buy him off with all the gold of Casterly Rock?”

“Jaime, are you mad?”

“I think I must be.  I would gladly give him the very brightest of Lannister gold, if you will say yes.”

“But the Kingsguard-”

“Apparently everyone knows I am not fit to serve without my right hand.  I am entirely replaceable and the guard may even be better for it.”

“But you _can_ fight!”

“Only if I try, my dear.  Mayhaps in my old age I’d rather be a lover than a fighter,” he smirked.

“A lover?”  _What in seven hells is he getting at?_

“A lover.  _Your_ lover. Do you trust me, Brienne?”

“I’ve said that I do.”

“And don’t you want to be with me?”  He grabbed her shoulder, hard enough to leave bruises.  “Tell me now, Brienne.  Would you, if it were possible?”

She could not speak.  _I love him.  I will always love him.  It hurts too much, Jaime, Jaime._ Her throat was paralyzed and her eyes threatened to spill over.  She squeezed them shut and tried to suck in some air.  She felt herself rocking, arms hugging her body.  _Just stop!  It is not possible._   Finally she managed to steady herself.  “Please do not pity me,” she whimpered, knowing full well how pitiful she appeared.

“I only pity myself, without you,” he sad softly, gathering her to his breast, kissing her hair and soothing her with caresses.  “Enough of this.  I might have an idea, but I need to think on it.  Meanwhile,” he brightened, “this absolutely cannot end in tears. I refuse to allow it.”

With her head pressed to him, she could feel his strong heartbeats.  She ran her fingers over his chest because she still could, and saw his cock twitch on his leg.

Seeing her notice, he sighed.  “It’s true what they say about men, wench.  Get next to a beautiful woman and the little head takes over.”

She dropped her hand to his member and felt it swell beneath her fingers.  “Can we do it again?”  she asked, smiling through the tears.

“I thought you'd never ask,” he gloated, pulling her on top of him. 

And so they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done with this story- another chapter or two and then a little puffy cloud of an epilogue I think. But for now I get to go reward myself with a fic fix and catch up on all your fabulous work! Thank you so much for reading!


	9. the feast of plenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding day has arrived! Fortunately our hero has managed to get his shit together, our heroine kind of always had her shit together, and they.... well read it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while. Here's a recap:  
> Jaime kisses Brie while sparring in a field. She storms off. Later, they are surprised by an announcement from Tarth that she's being married off to Lyle Crakehall, and he's coming to King's Landing soon!  
> Jaime is pissed that she seems to accept this arrangement so he tries to drown his sorrows/ get a rise out of her by taking a couple of serving girls to bed. Of course, he could never really do that, so instead he finds himself drunk outside her door in the middle of the night trying to make it up to her with a gift of his mama's special sapphire. Brienne takes it but she's sad because, you know, she has feels.  
> Crakehall shows up and is a total asshole. Jaime takes out his rage on a straw dummy, then finds Brienne weeping and they almost....but...it just doesn't seem right to do it in the muddy grass so they don't.  
> Next day Brienne thinks about what it means to be a woman vs a man/knight and decides to make her own rules (kind of but she's still determined to please her dad). Meanwhile Cersei tries to convince Jaime to knock her up and take her home. Jaime suspects she already IS knocked up and is scheming for cover. He declines.  
> Then Jaime and Brienne do the deed and it's perfectly lovely, except for the whole marrying Crakehall thing..... which brings us to....

the feast of plenty

 

He had worn the white cloak for more years of his life than not.  He had worn the white cloak, fucked his twin, and bested all comers with his blade, all for more than half of his life.  Standing before the polished silver mirror, Jaime wondered just who he would be when the sun rose tomorrow. He grimly buckled on his sword and descended the curving tower staircase, heading for the banquet hall.  Tonight, Brienne was to marry Ser Lyle Crakehall.  Cersei had surprised everyone by insisting the wedding take place as quickly as possible, claiming she was in haste to leave King’s Landing but couldn’t bear to miss the marriage of her brother’s ‘protector.’  _She’s not fooling anyone with her sudden interest in Brienne.  She thinks I’ll just let her go, and then…._  Jaime entered the hall.  He had a few surprises of his own planned.

From his position behind Tommen and the young Queen, Jaime scanned the crowd.   Crakehall was sitting at a prominent table decorated with his house colors of brown, black and white, some freshly cut flowering boughs, and plenty of tankards of the special barley wine of his home territories.  Custom called for the bride to sit with her own people.  The hodgepodge assembled under the blue and silver banners consisted mainly of the paltry delegation from Tarth as well as a few older Southron Ladies who had taken pity on the ungainly maid with no family present.  The bride would join her groom’s party after the cloaking ceremony, but Brienne was conspicuously absent.  _I hope the wench hasn’t done anything stupid._   _She wouldn’t run, not without…?_

Jaime hadn’t seen Brienne since the sun set on them three nights ago and she had finally managed to expel him from her rooms.  Her maid, coming down the hall just as he slipped out the door, had almost discovered them.  Thank gods the silly girl was singing rather loudly and lollygagging in the corridor as Jaime passed her by. He had barely enough time to conceal the bundle of stained sheets he carried, but the maid just gave him a wolfish grin and rolled her eyes as she sashayed through Brienne’s door.  She seemed a bit simple, actually, though she was glad enough to take his silver and deliver a note to her mistress yesterday.  “All is well.  Trust me,” was all he could think to safely write.  _At least it was something_.  _I’ve had nothing from her._   He had tried several times to get her alone, even waiting for hours at the orchard- but he had many duties to attend and she, too, had to sit for the dressmakers and septas.  It was frustrating, maddening even, after what they had shared.  All he wanted was more of her, but his mind was plagued by doubts that she might be regretting what had passed.

Nervous anticipation made Jaime jittery.  The audience with Margaery had gone well, and Qyburn had been able to confirm the legal details that concerned him.   _Everything is prepared- but where is she?_   Cersei sat a little apart from her son, stunning in a simple gown of impeccably fitted wine-red velvet with cords of gold crisscrossing her bosom and slender waist.  The circles under her eyes were the only insult to her pristine features, mouth pulled down in a tense pout.  Thanks to palace gossip, Jaime knew that his sister had presented Brienne with a wedding gift: a gown of obscenely costly satin damask and Cersei’s personal tailor.  Talk was, 10 seamstresses were needed to make it ready for tonight.  Talk was, the gown was also red, though trimmed with brown mink, for the Crakehalls.  _She wants to draw contrast between herself and Brienne._   Talk was also that the tomato hued satin was so stiff and shiny it made Brienne appear twice as big and half as fair.  A tight frown tugged at his lips from the sudden flash of anger.  _Don’t worry, sister.  You shall receive the attention you crave, in spades._ Cersei absently drew her fingertip in circles around the rim of her wine goblet, watching Jaime from the corner of her eye.   He stiffened his spine and pretended not to notice.  _All is well.  Brienne, where are you?_

When Brienne finally strode into the hall, Jaime’s jaw dropped.   Rather than the hideously elaborate red gown he was expecting, she had selected a midnight blue long waistcoat worked over the shoulders with silver-thread stars and moons.  The waistcoat had slitted tails that flapped about her long legs as she moved purposefully past the lower tables.  Jaime was sure it was meant as an over-vest to wear with a prim shirtwaist and long skirts, but Brienne had instead donned soft doeskin leggings, her scuffed riding boots and a simple linen shirt that did nothing to soften her muscular arms and left her pale neck exposed.  His heart lurched to see his mother’s exquisite sapphire at her throat, and when he looked up into her matching blue eyes she was already watching him with a slight scowl.  She dipped her head, acknowledging his presence.  Even though she wore no weapon, she looked every inch the warrior- fiercer than he’d seen her in weeks.  He found he was bouncing on the balls of his feet, and tried to swallow his smile and school himself into the serious demeanor appropriate to a guard.

“Finally we can get this over with,” mumbled Cersei.  “What the _fuck_ is she dressed in? Where?  Is that-?”  She slammed down her second cup of spiced wine.  “Jamie,” she hissed in a furious whisper, turning in her seat.  “You never gave her that necklace!”

“No?  Then she must have yet another wealthy admirer.  I wonder if he’s in love with her?” Jaime bared his teeth in a cool smile.  _Easy._ _Don’t give yourself away._

She was angry, he saw with satisfaction.  But she had lived by her wits, and cunning won out.  Cersei recomposed her face into the sickly sweet mask she’d worn with Jaime since their encounter in her rooms.  “Brother,” she craned her neck to look at him.  “I know you want your little knight to stay and play at swords with you.  But you can put away your sword when we go to Casterly.  Try not to worry.  She does seem rather …capable.  I’m sure she’ll learn how to handle him.  She will survive Crakehall just as _I_ survived Robert.”

“Your concern is touching. She is indeed most capable, and her man- handling….  ” He stopped himself.  _All in good time, Jaime._ Cersei’s attention had wandered anyway _._

The crowd buzzed over the untraditional appearance of the bride.  People were anxiously watching to see if there would be a reaction from her betrothed, but if Lyle cared whether his bride wore skirts, pants, or rags he wasn’t showing it.   

This was the chance Jaime was waiting for.  He rounded the kings’ table to take a stance at the front and center of the hall.  Silence spread like a rumor as the guests noticed the unusual interruption.

“Ladies and Lords,” he began, giving a sweeping bow to the crowd at large; “Your graces King Tommen and Queen Margaery, I beg the honor of your attention.”    He could feel every eye watching him.  The words he had carefully prepared rebelled against him and stuck in his throat. “War takes.  It takes the lives of many fine men.  A toast, to all who were lost!”  Thundering applause eased his speech.  “I count myself fortunate to have found my way home, returned to a simple life, a life of duty to the King.  And yet, I am not altogether unscathed.” He held high his right arm with the golden hand. It glittered in the light of so many torches while Jaime paced the front of the kings’ table, white cloak swirling around his heels.

“A knight of the kingsguard has but one duty: to defend the king at any cost.  My right hand- my _sword_ hand was lost to me, chopped off by outlaws.” Pausing for dramatic effect, he removed the leather sheath that held the hand in place and brandished the naked stump to the crowd. He dropped his voice. “I begged the Warrior to teach me to fight again.” He risked a quick glance at Brienne.  “For many moons I believed I could still serve.  But the truth is, I stand before you a changed man, a cripple.  I cannot fulfill my duties or…” _forgive me, Brienne_ , “honor my oaths.  I request permission to withdraw from the kingsguard.” 

Jaime stood tall in front of Tommen and Margaery, unclasped the silver stag pin from the shoulder of his white cloak, and shrugged it off, smoothing it over his right arm, fingers lingering on the white wool.   The hall was noisy with excited chatter.  He presented the cloak to the king with a bow.

At a whispered word from Margaery, Tommen stood and received the cloak, passing it off to a red-faced Ser Meryn Trant, the other guard on duty.  The boy king’s voice was clear and pure.  “It shall be as you say, uncle Jaime.”   

Margaery smiled indulgently down at the young king before addressing Jaime.  “Ser Jaime, Lord Commander, the court has heard your petition.  We are grateful for your years of service, and thank you for speaking frankly of your disability.  You are hereby honorably discharged form the Kingsguard.”  Margaery beamed at Jaime while her brother Loras rose from his place next to her, lifting a folded bundle of deep crimson from the chair beside him.  He circled the table to present Jaime with the heavy, crested cloak of House Lannister, held it open and draped it over his shoulders, fussing only a little to see that the folds hung perfectly.  “Now then.  I restore to you your birthright:  Lordship of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, with all their rights and responsibilities.  Do you accept, Ser Jaime?”

“With pleasure, your grace.”  Jaime winked at the young queen.  _She’ll be a better influence on the boy than Cersei ever would_.  He could see his twin smiling tightly, eyes seeking his, caught between triumph and confusion.  He looked away, to Brienne.  She sat stiffly at the head of her table, thin lips and watchful eyes. _Trust me,_ he thought, taking his place next to Cersei.  She reached a hand over, icy fingers on his thigh digging into his muscle, crabbing toward his groin.  He squeezed her hand, and then released it onto her own lap.  “Later,” he told her with his eyes.  _Later._

 

The hastily cobbled together entertainment for the evening consisted of a contortionist of uncertain gender performing with an enormous painted snake; and a girl who danced with fiery hoops to the mandolin of a dark youth wearing the headscarf of the blind.  Jaime thought it would never end.  Finally the ancient High Septon pushed himself to his feet and hobbled into place at the small dais that had been prepared next to Crakehall’s table.  Dinner guests began to pound their mugs and flatware on the tables as a call to attention.  It was time.  After the obligatory invocations to the seven, the Septon began the traditional litany.

“Who presents this bride?’ 

She rose, towering over her seated companions.  The torchlight flickered through her unruly, pale hair like a halo.  “I, Brienne of Tarth, former kingsguard to Renly Baratheon,” her eyes flicked to Margaery, “sworn sword to Lady Catelyn Stark.” A defiant stare directly at Cersei.  “I fought a bear with a wooden sword. I don’t need an escort to cross a simple floor.”   Some of the Ladies in the hall giggled nervously, but Jaime was surprised to also hear a few scattered claps of approval.

“Very well, then,” stammered the Septon.  “The Lady Tarth may approach the bridegroom, Ser Lyle, Lord of Crakehall.”

Crakehall drained the remains of his tankard in one sloppy draught, regarding Brienne with beady eyes already bleary from drink.  Her expression was inscrutable but she lifted her head and began the walk across the hall of onlookers.

 

Jaime took a deep breath and with one last glance at his sister, stood.  She half rose from her seat as well, hissing questions and grabbing at his cloak, but he flicked it out of her fingers and sidestepped away.  Pride forced her back onto her chair and plastered a smile on her mouth.

“I beg your pardon, yet again,” he called out with a smirk. “All these interruptions.  So rude.  But…stop the wedding!”

“I beg _your_ pardon, Ser?” the Septon quizzed.  Brienne just stared.

“Perhaps I flatter myself,” Jaime said to the entire hall, turning on his heel to face Brienne, “but I think the Lady is about to get a better offer.” Despite his jellied knees, his footsteps rang out strong against the silence of the mesmerized crowd as he advanced toward Brienne.  She met his eyes with her chin cocked, eyebrows drawn, waiting for him to reveal his move.  _She trusts me.  She did say so._   At least he had a built-in exit plan if she refused him.  Stopping one step short of her, he nervously quirked his lips in what he hoped was his most convincing smile and poured everything into silent communication with his eyes.

Lifting his hand to squeeze her shoulder, he swooped in closer and kissed her, full on the lips. Shocked gasps arose form the dinner guests and circled the ceiling like bats in a cave.  Jaime felt his blood pulse with the exhilaration of that moment when the foe is engaged and the potentiality of battle is irrevocably realized _. There is no turning back.  But we are both of us old hands at winning battles_.  He wrapped his right arm around her back and pulled her body against his _._  Joy rose in his chest and filled him close to bursting, for Brienne had leaned into him, her hands on his hips, parted lips kissing him right back. _In front of everyone, she stands with me._

He embraced her in sheer relief, then slid down to one knee, the other boot planted alongside her leg, his bent head sheltered for one brief moment against the slight curve of her belly.  “Brienne of Tarth,” he proclaimed, looking up and clearing his throat.  Chairs screeched against the stone floor and dishes rattled; the crowd was elbowing each other out of the way to get a better view of them.  Jaime heard a lone jeer out of the murmuring, and felt one very particular pair of eyes burning a hole in his back. 

Brienne shook her head and covered his mouth with her hand.  She dropped down to his level and leaned her face in close to his.

“Jaime,” she whispered.  “What are you doing?”

“Come to Casterly Rock with me,” he pleaded. “Now I am free to take a wife.  I love you, Brienne.”

For a long moment Brienne did not speak.  The noises from the crowd intensified. “This better be a fucking joke,” bellowed out a hoarse voice.  Something slammed and clattered onto the floor. “Would you mock my house, Lannister? By gods I sent 200 of my best breed sows and 20 boars to Tarth for her!” 

Brienne gave a sharp nod to Jaime, then quickly rose and turned.  With a few fluid steps she was directly across the table from Ser Lyle, who was on his feet, purple with rage.  Brienne swiped a platter of meat aside and braced both fists on the table. She leaned over to face the man nose to nose, forcing him back.  “ _You_ are a stinking disgrace to the honor of knighthood,” she spat into his face.  “I could have wed you out of obligation, and died, every single day. _I will not!”_

Ser Lyle looked around as if for a sensible male to take charge of the formidable woman before him.  Brienne’s hand shot out and her fingers knotted at Lyle’s collar.  She jerked him closer, forcing his bulging belly onto the heavy table.  “Listen to me!  If you send so much as one soldier to Tarth I will hunt you down and slaughter you like the pig you are!”  She released the sputtering Lyle and he staggered back, coming down hard in the chair behind him.

Ser Meryn Trant was hurrying toward Crakehall, and Jaime traced his path back to the King’s table.  Cersei seemed to have Queen Margaery by the arm, but as the smaller woman struggled and gesticulated, Cersei dug her fingers in and watched Trant approach Ser Lyle. _He’s bringing Lyle a sword!_

Hands clapped for attention from the head table and Jaime’s eyes snapped back to his sister.  She had released Margaery and was smiling into the room, coolly commanding silence.

“Ser Lyle, this is an unfortunate turn of events,” she said in a light, soothing voice. My brother, Ser Jaime Lannister has apparently seduced your bride. He has not been well since he was beaten, and crippled.”  The crowd tittered obligingly.   “I have reason to believe that his bizarre fixation upon-“ she grimaced-“Lady Tarth -is in fact the true reason he sought release from his sworn duty to the kingsguard.”  All eyes were on Cersei and she glowed, savoring the attention.  “You see, he personally assured me not 3 days ago that he is, in fact, in excellent fighting form.  This current plea,” she waved her hand dismissively, “of course, is a gross dereliction of duty for which the punishment is…” her voice finally wavered as she fixed her glare on Jaime, “…most severe.”

Ser Lyle nodded his head at her like a moonstruck sheepdog.  Trant elbowed him in the side and pushed the hilt of the blade at him.  “…fight him…” Jaime heard him mutter.  

Crakehall straightened and took the sword with a sloppy flourish.  “I shall challenge Ser Jaime!”  he announced, to roars and claps of approval.

“For the hand of Lady Tarth…” Cersei prompted.

“For the- I’ll send him to the Stranger for losing my fucking pigs, is what I’ll do!” he finished, finally catching on.  “I paid for that there bitch! Tarth belongs to me!”

“I’m afraid I misrepresented myself to my lovely sister,” Jaime drawled, still on his knees with his arms open wide, away from the hilt of his sheathed sword.  “I couldn't bear to disappoint her.  But the truth is, I am merely a cripple, a shadow of my former self.”

“Then draw first blood, Ser Lyle!” Cersei demanded. “If Ser Jaime told me true about his abilities he is guilty of cowardice and desertion! None will blame you if the gods see fit to take him.  But if he really is unable to fight he must yield and you shall have your bride.  Either way, he loses.”  Her voice shrilled with anger.   _So it comes to this_ , he thought.  _She thinks I will fight, and lose._ _Now I can be certain._

Jaime looked back to Ser Lyle just as the man flicked the finely honed tip of Trant’s sword into his right bicep, slicing through the heavy white doublet and exposing a bright thread of scarlet that quickly blossomed into a flower.  With a flash of blue Brienne was at his side. She turned into him and drew his sword from the scabbard at his waist in one graceful motion.  Her pale face was drawn in determination as she stepped between Jaime and Crakehall.  “I am the one breaking the contract.  I shall fight for my own person.”

Crakehall pulled his sword up, uncertain.  “The famous Jaime Lannister lets a woman wield his sword for him?”  he mocked, and the crowd laughed with him.  “On your feet, man!” he cried, trying to circle around Brienne. “Heel your bitch…or should I say ‘your whore’?”

 Brienne’s blade flashed out and rang against Crakehall’s, goading him.  “You may disarm the wench, Ser Lyle.  Have no fear for her safety, my brother will suffer no harm comes to _her_ ,” Cersei called to him.  Jaime saw Brienne’s mouth tug down, but she never took her eyes off her opponent. _Where’s Margaery gone?_ he wondered.  Tommen was missing too- perhaps she hadn’t wanted him to see this.  Jaime was not worried about Brienne facing off against Crakehall; the man was huge but she could take him with her eyes closed.  But while it would be most amusing to watch her drive him into submission, humiliating Crakehall right now was in no one’s best interest.

Brienne smacked Lyle’s left shoulder with the flat of her blade, then spun around and swatted his sword point down like a cat playing with a particularly stupid, large, mouse.

Her taunting jabs were infuriating Ser Lyle.  He swayed and shuffled his feet as Brienne danced light circles around him, slapping his shins, making it look far too easy.  Lyle jerked his sword arm spastically, out of shape and half drunk.  He was unable to land a single blow.  Losing patience, he let out a great bellow, raised the broadsword with both hammy fists, and charged Brienne.  She waited until the last minute to dodge, whirled under his down sweep and used her momentum to bat him flat on the arse with enough force that her steel sent him stumbling to his knees and elbows, sword spinning away across the stone floor.

Brienne kept her defensive posture and watched with careful eyes, but everyone else in the room erupted into raucous laughter, including Jaime. Lyle staggered heavily to his feet, his mouth set in murderous rage.  He picked up his sword but instead of addressing Brienne he lurched toward Jamie. The crowd gasped as he recklessly pressed the sharp edge of the blade against Jamie’s throat, his other hand fisted in Jaime’s hair. 

“What say you now, wench?  Will you honor your father’s promise?”

“You would not slay the unarmed uncle of the king,” Brienne said uncertainly.

“Not like this, no.” He laughed, a menacing, joyless sound.  “But no one here seems to care overmuch much for a kingslayer and a craven.  Mayhaps I’ll just take his other hand.  If you want his cock so badly you can hold it for him every time he takes a piss.  Or maybe I’ll just give his pretty face a nice, ugly scar to match yours.” He slanted the sword up, against Jamie’s jaw.  A bead of dark blood appeared where the blade met the skin.

 Brienne took an unconscious step back, sword tip clattering down, unthreatening. Trant was there, reaching for the hilt, and she gave it up to him, keeping her eyes glued to Jaime. He winced as Crakehall twisted the fist harder into Jaime’s hair, forcing his head back.  Jaime could feel the unsteady blade cutting deeper, and then Lyle let the sword drop to his side and sent Jamie sprawling onto the flagstones with a hard kick to the back.

“Get over here, woman.  Where is the fucking Septon?  I want to get this finished.”

“The Septon is here, Ser Lyle,” rang out a confident feminine voice.  _Margaery, thank the gods_.  “And yet, before we proceed, I would ask you to consider another possibility.”

All eyes were on Queen Margaery, standing on the dais in her green and silver gown embroidered with the roses of house Tyrell.  “Ser Jaime has told me of his great love for the Maid of Tarth.”  Cersei gaped at her, disbelieving.  Jaime looked to Brienne.  A small, shy smile tugged at her wide lips.

“I would consider it a personal favor for you to release Lady Brienne from the marriage contract,” Margaery continued.  Crakehall’s mouth hung open like a fish on the hook.  “We highborn ladies so seldom get to marry for love….” she trailed off.  Ser Loras, next to her, reached for her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.  “And yet, we would not deny you a bride, nor would we deny all these good people the pleasure of witnessing the happy event they came to see.  The lady I put forward to your Lordship, with the full support of the King and the head of her house, is a legendary beauty of great wealth and proven fertility.”

“But what of land, your grace?” grumbled Ser Lyle, his interest piqued. “Tarth would increase my holdings in the east considerably.”

“The lady in question holds no land herself, but her influence can hardly be underestimated.  If it is land you seek, her family will certainly be willing to offer a significant settlement in the west.  I speak of none other than the queen mother: Lady Cersei Baratheon.”

“No!”  Cersei stood with fists clenched, face drained of all color.  “Jaime!  Stop this!”

Ser Lyle burst out laughing, grinning from ear to ear. “By the seven!  My maester told me the gods would surely reward me for taking the scarred beast to wed.  When I come home with this beautiful Lady I will be the one to reward him, with a chain of pure Lannister gold!”

“It’s out of the question, Ser Lyle,” interjected Cersei.  “I am returning to my home to live out my life as a widow!  I am sending for my daughter and my brother is going to accompany us!”

“I think not,” said Jaime.  “Although I see no reason Myrcella should not join you at Crake Hall.  She may be helpful when you produce an heir- doubtless sooner than later.”  Cersei blanched even whiter and grasped for the edge of the table, slowly lowering herself into her chair.  Jaime crossed the floor to speak to her in a voice low and pleading.  “Cersei, please.  This is likely to be your best offer. I’m not taking you with me to Casterly.  This is all I can do for you.”

“Well that settles it!” Ser Lyle boomed out.  “Septon!”  Cersei remained silently frozen in her chair, so the ceremony was awkwardly performed behind the head table.  With her eyes on the floor, the vows were quickly muttered and the stolid brown cloak with the brindled black boar was draped over her slumped shoulders like a shroud, completely obscuring her shimmering red gown.

Crakehall was beaming and toasting everyone within reach when his brows beetled in consternation. “Does this mean I get my pigs back?” he slurred.

“I would not disgust my wife with the stench of your meat in her home,” hissed Jaime.  “Take your pigs back to Crake Hall with my sister.”

“I had the thought,” interjected Brienne,  “to give the pigs to widows and orphans of the war, Ser Jaime.” “Many are hungry.  The pigs would be a great help.  However, if Ser Lyle wishes to retract his gift I will challenge him to single combat for them…. provided he swears to fight by the rules this time.”

“Oh!” Margaery clapped her small hands.  “What a lovely idea, Lady Brienne- helping the poor.  I’m sure Lady Crakehall agrees with you completely.” The queen sneered prettily at Cersei.  “After all, she is well acquainted with the difficult plight of widowed mothers, utterly dependent upon the generosity of their…. friends.”

Cersei never looked up.  “As you wish, your grace,” she said flatly.

Ser Lyle glanced nervously from Margaery to Brienne.  “I… those pigs… yes, of course.  Feed the poor.  Never let it be said that Lyle Crakehall is not charitable!  Who needs pigs when you have the Lady Cersei!”

The hall rumbled with the din of heavy drinking.  Tankards clanked and laughter filled the air as thick as the haze from the fires along the walls.  Inevitably, someone started the chant:  “Bedding!  Bedding!”

Jaime ran his hand through his hair, wondering if he could take Brienne and leave.  He had been unable to change Margaery’s mind on the matter of the bedding.  Cersei didn’t move but she somehow seemed to grow even smaller under the brown cloak.   _She should have known better than to rule by fear and hate_.  He felt a sudden pang of sympathy for his twin.  _But then, she thought she’d always have me to protect her._

Brienne’s hand landed stiffly in his lap and pressed something urgently against his leg.  _A dirk?  It must have been in her boot._

“For…her.  Your sister.  Give it to her.”

“Give me what?”  Cersei wasn’t as far gone as he’d thought.  She had put her head down on the table between her crossed arms some time ago; he’d assumed it was the desired outcome of the flagon of wine she’d downed.  Now she held her hand out scornfully.  “What could Brienne have that I could possibly wa—” her face scrunched up and she stopped talking for a minute, and then soldiered on. “Give it to me.”

Jaime laid the dirk onto the table in front of him.

“A knife!  To kill myself with?” she sounded genuinely amused.  “You innocent, romantic idiot.  Lyle Crakehall is no… no Jaime Lannister,” she swayed in her chair, chuckling.  “But who is?”  A hiccough that sounded a bit like a sob.  “He’s not worth ending my life over.  And Neither. Is. Jaime.”  She punctuated her statement with another gulp of wine.  “You _wish_ it were so.  Methinks you’re not so strong after all.  You keep it, for when he comes back to me.”

“Not for yourself,” Brienne insisted.  “Nor for Crakehall,” she hastily added.  “To hold them off the bedding!”

Cersei laughed.  “Is that what you would do?  Is that why you brought it?” 

Brienne nodded earnestly.  “Just showing it should be enough.  Nobody wants blood to spill tonight.”

Cersei ran her fingers over the dirk.  Someone had started a round of “The Bear and the Maiden Fair,” and men were keeping time banging knives against their tankards.

“I honestly don’t know if I could,” she said softly.  “This is not a woman’s weapon.” Her hand hesitated over the hilt and Jaime reflexively sprang up, pushed Brienne behind him and threw his arms wide, protecting her.  Cersei’s bewildered expression slowly crumpled to resigned defeat.  She shoved the dirk back toward Brienne and stood, hauling Ser Lyle up by his arm, away from Margaery’s attentions.

Men and women jostled good-naturedly toward the center of the hall to form the bedding parties, but Cersei silenced them with a raised arm.  She wasted no words. “My Lord Husband is taking me to bed now.  I am not a maid.  I am the queen mother and there will be no bedding.  Anyone who thinks to differ will answer to Big Brienne and her tiny little knife.  Good night.”  Cersei was used to wielding authority and the crowd seemed to accept her decree.  She turned on her heel and staggered into Lyle, who was grinning from ear to ear.  He caught her easily and led her swiftly to the doors amidst the disappointed boos as well as good-humored obscenities hurled at the couple.

Jaime exhaled and sank back into his chair.  _It is done._   He was suddenly exhausted.  He felt an empty hole in his chest but when he looked over to Brienne, her soft smile was more than large enough to fill it.  He reached for her hand under the table and she turned to him, eyes filling with concern.

“Let us take our leave, Jaime.  The smoke is burning my throat.”

He followed Brienne to one of her favorite places in the keep- a small private balcony off the library, with large earthenware pots of fragrant herbs and a view of the bay.  The waxing quarter moon was slung low over the waters, casting a silver net.  They leaned against the balustrade, gazing out over the view in silence.  Jaime gingerly put his arm around her shoulder, and she did not stiffen or turn away.  Instead, she fitted her body close into his and wrapped an arm around his waist.   He did not know whether she had meant to agree to marry him or even registered his declaration of love.  He tried in vain to tame the words swirling in his head so that he could offer her a proper proposal.

“With-“ _NO! Try again._ “When we met, I was called Kingslayer, but then you… _”  Ugh.  “_ Brienne, I never thought I had the right to any kind of happiness, so I closed myself up.  I never expected to find …someone like you …who could…”

“Jaime?” Brienne asked with an odd softness to her voice.  “It’s cold out here.  Would you…?”  She turned to him and took hold of the edge of his formal red cloak, her blue eyes brimming with emotion.

Adrenaline flooded his system as he realized what she was asking.  As elegantly as he could manage with but one hand, he swirled the cloak from his shoulders and held it between them.  “Brienne,” he began.  “I swear…” but she silenced him with a gentle finger to his lips.

“No more oaths, Jaime.  I don’t need them.  Just tell me again…”

“I love you.  I love you, Brienne.  For so long now, but I didn’t know.”  She dipped a little so he could cover her with his cloak, then straightened and pulled it tight, hugging the thick wool around herself, running her hands over it with a wide, toothy smile he would have thought absurd had it not shone brighter and more pure than the moon herself.

“The sigil of House Tarth is a moon and stars,” she told him.  “I have no cloak, but as long as you can look to the night sky and see the moon and stars above, know that I – I love you too, Jaime.”  She opened her arms to him and he sank into her embrace, his perfect match, his salvation, his truest friend and trusted partner.  His eager lover, who had shaken him to his very core with the intensity of the pleasure she had given so freely and received so unashamedly.  Their truths had been spoken in the presence of the only people who mattered and any gods who cared to eavesdrop.  He sought her lips and they kissed.  At first shyly, then tenderly, then long and deep with growing passion, two bodies under one red cloak, in the shadows cast by the moon’s glow.  And they lived….

  

                                                                                                                                                                                                                         ….. happily ever after.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I apologize for the extreme feel-goodiness of this chapter. I know it's really way off canon lol. If you hated all the happy and feel like you could choke on any more sweet, please do not read the epilogue! 
> 
> This experience of writing in a community has been wonderful. I may or may not try my hand at more -practice makes perfect, so I'd like to- but I do intend to stick around and suck up all the amazing writing. If I had read more before I began my story I wouldn't have posted it, because the authors here are so. fucking. good! but also really supportive so I can't say I regret putting my little contribution out there. Thanks so VERY much for all the lovely kudos and comments every single one made me very, very happy.


	10. Epilogue:  the icing on the cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everybody gets a happy ending in merrynoviceville. everybody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pure silliness.

epilogue

the icing on the cake

 

Sera’s footsteps sounded furtive in the dim hallway.  She willed more authority into them.  After all, she had a reason to be here. Mostly.  She was delivering…something…from her Lady to the queen by way of Margaery’s maid, her sister.  “None o’ your business, that’s what!”  she practiced saying in her head, in case she was asked.  “ _Women’s_ matters.”  _That’ll do the trick._  

A groom slouched by their door, listening.  When he saw Sera coming, he quickly bent down and tugged at his boot as if it’d come amiss.  Straightening, he cast one last glance at the planks of oak before he shuffled away.  Sera wouldn’t have reported him for being in the front of the house.  _It’s only natural to want to see- or hear- for oneself._  It’s why she’s here as well, to be sure.  She told herself that she had a duty to get to the bottom of any gossip concerning Lady Cersei, now her former mistress’ sister in law. Lady Brienne could fix him up right quick, if the rumors flying were true.  _She’s a true knight, she is._

 

Sera’s duties were light today.  She had nearly finished packing Brienne’s things, to be sent on to Casterly Rock.  Her possessions were few enough, especially since she had decided to travel with her armor and most of her weapons.  Besides the tomato- satin gown Brienne had given to Sera for her mother to cut down for the little sisters, there were a few dresses Sera had never seen worn- including a hideous pink thing that would have looked right awful on her Ladyship even had it not been torn and stained; and one set of grievously rumpled silk sheets.  Jaime Lannister had taken the other set gods knew where.  She had seen him awkwardly trying to stuff the lumpy bundle under his cloak the other night when he _finally_ crept out of her Lady’s chambers.  She’d just laughed- as if she would judge Brienne!  Judge her lucky, maybe. That particular Lannister was one Lion she wouldn't mind a nip from, marriage or no.  And of course it had worked out for the best, after all. 

The day of the wedding Brienne had been gruff and silent, refusing to have her hair styled and cursing the ugly red dress with words that would even make a sailor blush.  That Crakehall was a bad one, to be sure, but Sera had been certain Ser Jaime would save the day for his Lady Love _,_ and he had _.  Didn’t he write, “All is well?”_   Of course she couldn’t say that- she wasn’t supposed to know what was in the note. He had been magnificent though.  She had seen it all from the kitchen door, and almost peed her smallclothes when her Lady grabbed that sword and went after Ser Lyle like a bolt of blue lightning!  It was just like a story form the beautiful book Brienne had given to Sera. 

Then there was the pouch of gold dragons left upon the table.  The note said the money was for her and Jobe, to open his own mill. Brienne had remembered, and it would make all the difference. _Aye, I need to squirrel out what’s doing in there for her Ladyship’s sake, hers and Ser Jaime’s._

The furor surrounding Brienne and Jaime’s wedding feast and their rapid departure bound first for Tarth, then Casterly Rock had been quickly eclipsed by new, even more salacious rumors concerning the other newlyweds: Lord and Lady Crakehall.  The couple had not left his chambers for three full days since the wedding.  The servants had not been granted admission, not even Lady Cersei’s long trusted handmaiden!  Sera knew something wasn’t right, because usually Cersei wouldn’t go an hour without demanding her hair or gown be fixed up.  Meals and wine were to be left outside the door and the dirty dishes, used linens and chamber pots pushed out in the dead of night.  And the noises!  Some said screams of pain, others swore demonic laughter.  By then, everyone in the Keep was coming up with excuses to loiter in their hallway to try and catch a juicy tidbit.

Once the groom was out of sight, Sera stepped up to the door and pushed her curls out of the way, laying her ear against the heavy wood.  She heard the low murmur of conversation from inside, the chink of cutlery on dishware.

“…need to be punished,” came through the wood in a throaty male growl.  She startled, eyes wide.  _Ye gods!_

“…dirty …pig…” came a smothered feminine voice.  Sera hardly dared to breath.

“Say that again?” The male, sounding a bit dangerous.

“I’m a dirty little piglet.” Cersei’s voice was bolder, raspy.  “I need to be punished. You must spank me, good Ser.”

This was followed by the crashing of a bit of pottery, most likely, onto the floor and a great shriek of feminine laughter.  A slap- _Ai, a_ wet _slap- and a …was that a squeal? And THAT was a certainly snort!_  

Sera realized she was like to faint away as she struggled to breathe through stifled laughter.  She scampered down the passageway as quickly as her feet could carry her.  At the end of the hall she nearly crashed into a couple of girls she recognized from the kitchens. Her sparkling eyes caught their wary ones before she skittered around the corner and finally exhaled into fit of giggles.  _An my face a-burnin’ red!  They’ll get what they came for_ , _no mistake!_

Sera turned her steps back to her Lady’s rooms to finish up her work there. _Aye, nothing there  to concern my Lady after all_ , she thought with a snicker as she broke into a little skip and a song:

 

“Then she sighed and squealed,

And kicked the air…"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And...that's a wrap!
> 
> Thanks for bearing with me! I want to marry all of you! I can cook?

**Author's Note:**

> First fiction writing, but I was lost in creating a happy ending for these two. Just not so fast....
> 
> Thanks for reading and thanks for comments any advice. The talent here humbles me.


End file.
